


Silver and Gold

by Clytemnestrasrevenge



Category: VIXX
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Frottage, Healers, Herbalism, Illnesses, M/M, Medium Burn, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Non-graphic Attempted Non-con, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Princes, Revolution, Secret Identity, Smut, Swords, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clytemnestrasrevenge/pseuds/Clytemnestrasrevenge
Summary: “Do you swear to protect the life of his highness, the Crown Prince by any means necessary?”“I swear it,” Wonshik replied, stopping himself from gritting his teeth.(AKA: that one where Wonshik just wants to avenge his family, but Jaehwan gets in the way.)
Relationships: Cha Hakyeon | N/Jung Taekwoon | Leo, Kim Wonshik | Ravi/Lee Jaehwan | Ken
Comments: 33
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Smilehoyaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smilehoyaaa/gifts).



> Based on this prompt:
>
>> Anyone interested in writing a RAKEN au where Wonshik is one of the royal guards but in reality he wants to kill the whole royal family until he meets the ill prince who's the most beautiful kind hearted person he ever met?
>> 
>> — Basant 🎪💮 (@Smilehoyaaa) [February 28, 2020](https://twitter.com/Smilehoyaaa/status/1233344023034834944?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)

~✵~✵~✵~

~✵~✵~✵~

The kingdom was good. _Once._

All was ruined by a smiling Tyrant, stained with his brother's blood. The Good Kings blood.

The good king was dead, and the good king's son had vanished. The Tyrant’s nephew. A tall, skinny fifteen-year-old with too-long limbs and the burnished golden hair that marked him as royal. As other. As _above._

How had the boy escaped? The Tyrant had achieved his goal, won control of the kingdom and burned his brother's body on a pyre, but the _boy..._ the boy weighed heavy on his mind. The boy could ruin everything.

He searched the piles of bodies, so many who had tried to fight against his ascension. Those who’d tried to defend the good king. It had been in vain. The one body he needed to find, needed to see with his own eyes, was not there.

It took some time to locate the one responsible for smuggling his nephew from the palace during the coup. The kingdom had already begun to fall into ruin, but the Tyrant didn’t care, he _couldn’t_ care, until he dispensed punishment for this betrayal.

Never once did it occur to the Tyrant that _he_ was the betrayer, not the chambermaid who had snuck his nephew through the servant’s tunnels and then outside the palace walls. It never occurred to him that the woman had done the right thing, stayed loyal to the good king and the true prince. There was none of that, nothing so logical. Only the _surety_ that this woman had actively worked against him and that she would be pay the price.

“You,” he snarled, holding the point of his sword in the woman’s defiant face where she knelt before him. Defiant, even now. Even when the Tyrant had ordered her son and husband arrested and they were chained at her side. Three little people, little peasants, _inconsequential_ when compared to his greatness.

The Tyrant changed his mind on the spot. Not to save this woman, let her go. No. _No,_ he decided that instead of killing her child in front of her, he’d take her child as repayment for the missing prince.

Blood fanned down the side of his face as he drove his sword through the chest of the woman’s husband. Killing him in a single blow as the child began to scream in terror.

“This is the price you pay for your betrayal,” he shouted, grabbing the boy by the hair and hauling him around so he could look his mother in the eye. So he could see the life fall from her as a guard came up from behind and slit her throat.

The Tyrant glared down at the boy, blood splattered across pale cheeks and eyes wide with fear. Hair that was more silver than gold, but close enough to pass for a noble. The Tyrant had no children, but it would be good, he thought, to have a prince. To inspire thoughts of _dynasty_ when the people looked up at the high palace towers.

“You will obey my every word,” he hissed, an order not a question. The Tyrant released his hair and watched the boy nod, cowering on the floor. He backhanded the boy across the face. Listening to him whimper in pain.

“You will be foraged in my image but never forget, you are _nothing!”_

The Tyrant smacked the boy again, for emphasis more than any real pleasure.

“What are you?”

“Nuh-nothing,” the boy gasped, frozen where he'd tumbled to the floor. Wide brown eyes fixed on the Tyrant.

“How old are you?”

“Eleven!”

Not as old as his nephew but old enough to understand his situation. Old enough.

“And what is your name,” the Tyrant asked, a sneer curling his mouth as he wiped the blood from his sword.

“Jaehwan!”

“Well, Jaehwan, remember what happened to your parents. Remember that this is what happens to those who betray me.”

~✵~✵~✵~

Wonshik stood at attention, ice black armor covering him all the way up to his neck, a sword strapped at his hip, a scarlet cloak draped around his shoulders.

He _hated_ his job, hated standing there in the palace, hated wasting his life guarding a man who’d done nothing but ruin Wonshik’s homeland.

Wonshik was a soldier. Or he guessed he was a guard now, technically. Recruited to the palace guard because he was so loyal. Most of the men had to be threatened into submission. Their loyalty had to be bought if they weren't naturally viscious. But not Wonshik’s. Wonshik was loyal without any influence at all.

Or, that’s what Wonshik _wanted_ them to think. And it was working. His plan _was_ working, if slowly, first two years served in the military police, keeping peace on the streets of the capital. Hurting innocent people because it was what was expected of him. And then his recent recruitment to the palace, his temporary probation until he would become the crown prince's personal bodyguard. Wonshik didn’t know what had happened to the prince's previous bodyguard and he didn’t really care. All that mattered was that the position was vacant.

At the moment, he was standing guard by the wall of the interior gardens, eyes fixed on a tree before him and mind slowly boiling to soup in his boredom. Wonshik had been instructed to stay there all day. To grow accustomed to staying on the grounds. The prince didn’t leave the confines of the palace. Ever. So Wonshik wouldn’t either.

He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right. Trying to think of something, anything, to give his mind some stimulation. There were birds all around, their sweet song filling his ears and he focused on the sound. Inhaling deep lungful’s of floral perfumed air.

Wonshik looked first one way, then the other. There were no other guards on duty in this section of the garden, and the regular patrol shouldn’t come by for another half an hour. He could relax a little. Even if only for a moment.

He felt around in the pocket of his cloak for some crumbs, remnants of the toast he'd snuck from the mess-hall during mornmeal. There was a little sparrow hopping in the grass a few feet away and Wonshik knelt, holding out the crumbs in the palm of his hand.

The bird peered at him but hopped away, even when he let a low coaxing whistle slip from between his teeth.

“They’ll never trust you; you know.”

It was only by the grace of his training that Wonshik didn’t jump at the unfamiliar voice. He straightened slowly, searching for its source. The little bird was forgotten.

Maybe ten feet away, crouching beneath the low hanging branches of a willow tree, was a person. Or, a person shaped lump, cloaked and hooded in black cotton. The material was finely woven, but it was still cotton, not velvet like his own uniform cloak.

“State your business,” Wonshik replied, watching the stranger creep from their hiding spot and inch closer.

“I had a bit of free time, just trying to get some fresh air before returning to work.” The stranger's voice was soft and lilting, but there was something of weariness hidden between the words. A palace servant on break, Wonshik assumed. No wonder they were tired, the servants were worked almost to the point of breaking. Just another thing for Wonshik to hate about the _royal family._

The servant, a man, Wonshik could see now, came to stand in front of him. Wonshik’s first thought was that he was too thin. The hands snaking out from beneath that cloak were almost skeletal, connecting to rather bony wrists. And his face was very narrow, hollow cheeks and a pointy chin. Dark shadows beneath a pair of chocolate brown eyes. Wonshik couldn’t tell the color of the man’s hair beneath the hood, but he guessed it was fair. Wispy fly-away strands at his temples that were almost white.

“May I?”

“Pardon?” Wonshik cleared his throat, having been mildly distracted by the man’s face. He was good looking, despite everything, but Wonshik couldn’t let such a thing happen again. Couldn’t let himself be distracted.

The corner of the man’s mouth curved in a minute smile. “May I have some of that?”

Wonshik blinked twice and then held out the handful of crumbs, watching the man’s slim fingers pinch a bit of them.

He continued watching as the man sat, cross legged on the grass with his flat palm outstretched, humming a light airy tune under his breath. To Wonshik’s surprise, a sparrow hopped right up and landed on one of the man’s fingers, pecking at the crumbs on his palm.

Another bird joined the first, the strange man humming softly until all the crumbs were gone and the sparrows took wing. It was an almost magical thing to watch.

“So, who are you?” the stranger asked, slowly standing back up and brushing his hand on his cloak.

“My name is Kim Wonshik. I’m a guard. The Crown Prince's new bodyguard, although that position won’t be official until weeks end.” Wonshik’s reply earned him a look of what he thought to be derision.

The stranger sniffed. “I hate guards,” he said, the word _‘hate’_ spat with such venom that Wonshik recoiled a bit. He empathized with the sentiment, more than this man could know, but it was still shocking to hear spoken aloud. In the middle of the palace, no less. Dangerous words. He wouldn’t join in.

“Well-“ Wonshik started, not knowing exactly what he was going to say, but it turned out not to matter. Shouting from behind him sent him whirling around in a flash.

Another of the palace guards had appeared, sword drawn and face a mask of contempt. “Servants aren't allowed in the garden! What do you think you’re doing?!”

Wonshik turned back to look at the stranger who had crumpled to the grass, inching backwards and coughing into one elbow. It was such a pathetic picture that Wonshik had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his temper in check.

“Back off, soldier,” he snapped, freeing his own sword and leveling it at the guard’s throat. The newcomer was wearing the grey cloak of a lower ranking lieutenant. Strictly speaking, Wonshik was a guard commander now, and he felt a rather savage twinge of enjoyment at pulling rank. The servant hadn’t been doing anything wrong and Wonshik would happily defend him from this halfwit.

The other guard lowered his weapon and moved away, but when Wonshik turned to check on the servant, he found that he’d already scrambled back toward the garden door. Shoulders shaking and ragged coughs still tearing from his throat.

He watched the strangers retreating back until he’d safely disappeared inside, and then returned his attention to the guard.

“Remember your place, lieutenant,” he said coldly, dismissing the guard with a wave of his hand and taking up his previous position.

~✵~✵~✵~

Three more days and three meetings later, and Wonshik had found out that the servants name was Ken.

He came to the garden every day, always when Wonshik was on duty, and they’d taken to sitting together and talking quietly until Wonshik had to make his rounds.

Ken was kind, surprisingly sweet to Wonshik despite the fact that he despised guards. He was never without his hood and cloak, but Wonshik was quickly getting to know his face. Pointed nose and elfin ears and those big eyes that could put a puppy to shame.

“How did you come to work in the palace?” Wonshik asked, tilting his head back to let the sun warm his face.

At his side, Ken shifted a little on the grass. “My mother-“ Wonshik heard him swallow, “My mother was the old queen's chambermaid,” he sighed.

Wonshik sat up at that. Almost no one remained from the good king’s staff. As far as Wonshik knew, all the loyal people had been killed in the coup. And Ken had spoken in the past tense.

“What happened to her?” he asked gently, reaching out to take his friends hand. It had been meant to be a comforting gesture, but Ken flinched away, coughing into his elbow. He coughed so hard he slumped to his side; only kept upright by the forearm he’d braced on the ground.

Wonshik always felt utterly useless in these moments, hating his inability to help his friend. But there was nothing to be done. The coughing fits seemed to be triggered by stress but Wonshik wasn’t sure, all he could do was sit and wait for the fit to subside.

Ken surfaced eventually, and Wonshik was alarmed to see him dabbing a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth with a handkerchief. “Are you alright,” he asked, but Ken just waved him off.

“Fine, I’m fine,” Ken sighed, voice sounding gruff as he tucked the handkerchief back into his pocket. “You wanted to know what happened to my mother?”

Wonshik nodded, hesitant to drop the subject of his friend's illness when it seemed so serious. But Ken clearly didn’t want to discuss it further, so he let it go.

“She was killed. By one of his Majesty’s guards,” Ken continued, eyeing the sword at Wonshik’s hip with distaste. “In front of me.”

“God,” Wonshik breathed, shutting his eyes tight for a moment. His own parents had died, but they’d died of neglect in prison when they failed to pay the Tyrant’s exorbitant taxes. It was the reason Wonshik wanted to be here. To get close to the _royal family._ So he could avenge his parents' pointless deaths and watch the life leave the Tyrant’s eyes when he fell on Wonshik’s blade. But still Wonshik hadn’t literally had to _watch_ his parents die.

A weak “I’m sorry,” was all Wonshik could offer. He knew it wasn’t nearly good enough, but it was all he could do. “Why did you stay here, after that? If you don’t mind me asking?”

Ken gave Wonshik an empty look. “I didn’t have a choice. Nobody really has choices in this new kingdom anymore, do they?”

“No,” Wonshik replied, although his mind had already strayed to his fellow guards. Men that he knew for a fact weren’t there simply to protect themselves or their families. Almost all the guards he’d come in contact with during his service were there because they liked it. Liked the power trip. Liked being able to inflict pain with no repercussions. Fucking appalling excuses for human beings, the lot of them.

“Why are you here, Wonshik? Did _you_ have a choice?”

Wonshik fixed his gaze on the grass. “I have no trade skills, and no family. And I’m a good fighter. What else would I do?” he replied, trying to tell as much truth as he could.

“Not a clue,” Ken hummed, lying back and folding a skinny arm behind his head. He must have that hood pinned somehow because it never, _ever_ slipped off.

Wonshik lay down on his side, propping his head in his hand. “Do you have any other friends in the palace?”

“Not really, a few of the maids like me, I suppose, but I wouldn’t exactly call them _friends.”_

“I bet you’re popular with the girls,” Wonshik chuckled, grinning when Ken smacked at his chest. “Not like _that,_ idiot. We have to look out for each other around here, with-“ vague hand waving in Wonshik’s direction- “Your lot skulking around every corner.”

Wonshik frowned. “I apologize on behalf of my... of the others,” he replied, knowing that too wasn’t sufficient.

“So, you’re going to be the prince's bodyguard?” Ken asked, the abrupt change of subject throwing Wonshik slightly off balance.

“Yes.”

“Why? What makes you think he’s worth guarding?”

_Nothing,_ Wonshik thought, the prince could burn in the deepest circle of hell for all he cared. The prince was just as bad as the Tyrant from what Wonshik had heard, just as cold and cruel and horrid. A monster in miniature.

“He’s the prince, surely that’s enough of a reason?” Wonshik replied, a question in his own voice as he watched his friends’ eyes flutter shut.

“You can say he's terrible, everyone knows.”

“I really can’t, but I applaud your bravery.” Wonshik smiled despite the fact that his friend's words were borderline treasonous. Ken let out a soft laugh, that laugh that came so rarely but always put Wonshik in mind of birdsong.

Could he possibly be feeling happy? Wonshik hadn’t been _truly_ happy in so long that it was almost a foreign concept to him at this point, always focused on keeping up his act. Always staying alert. but for some reason, this strange, shy man made Wonshik happy. Content, even.

“Would you like to go somewhere with me, if our days off line up? To a tavern possibly? Or… just go on a walk around the lake? Or a picnic?” The words leapt from his mouth out of nowhere, catching Wonshik by surprise. He hadn’t actually meant to ask but- if Ken would… “It could be nice, you know? Since you said you don’t have many other friends?”

Ken turned to stare up at Wonshik in shock, lips parted around words that didn’t come. He just stared like that with his mouth open, as though Wonshik had asked him to pull the stars down from the sky.

“You don’t have too, obviously, I just thought-“

“No, no Wonshik that’s very sweet of you, I just don’t get very many days off,” Ken replied, shifting a bit so he could look Wonshik full in the face. “They don’t let me out much.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” Wonshik said, plastering a smile on his face. He could sense a lie when he heard one, and Ken didn’t usually lie to him. But, Wonshik mused, a kind excuse was better than flat out turning him down.

In the distance, the ringing of the clock tower could be heard. It was four o’clock. Nearly time for his shift rotation.

“I should get back to my post,” Wonshik mumbled, hastily getting to his feet. Secretly, he was glad for the escape, he didn’t know how to salvage their conversation after that woeful attempt at... at whatever that was. _Pitiful._

Ken jumped up, moving faster than Wonshik thought was possible when he was very clearly unwell. “Wait,” he called, trailing after Wonshik to the wall where he should have been standing this entire time.

“Were you,” Ken covered his mouth with one hand, trying to disguise what Wonshik thought was a smile. “Were you asking me for a date?”

“Maybe,” Wonshik huffed, assuming his at-ease position. He wasn’t entirely sure it had been a request for a _date._ The only thing he knew was that he wanted to get to know Ken outside of these stifling walls. See what he was like in the real world.

Wonshik didn’t really have any endgame in mind. He had his plans to end the Tyrant, but everything came to a stop after that. It was his only goal. There was no other future for him.

But maybe... maybe this strange, beautiful man could be- that? Could be a part of his endgame? Someone for after all the bloodshed? Wonshik didn’t know.

“You’re... you’re very kind, Wonshik,” Ken said quietly, going up on tiptoe a little and pressing his lips to Wonshik’s cheek. It was a quick kiss, soft and sweet and as Wonshik watched Jaehwan dart back to the door, he had to fight not to grin.

~✵~✵~✵~

Wonshik was doing his rounds the next morning, his mind still on that little kiss.

It was so minute, so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it had left such an impression on him. Gave him a reason to smile. And that was certainly a rare thing nowadays.

He was still getting used to his new route around the prince's apartments. It was a horribly ostentatious wing, everything white and ornamented with silver. Better than gold, Wonshik supposed, like the throne room or the audience chamber. But those were the Tyrant’s domain. At least the stupid prince had a softer eye when it came to interior decorating.

Wonshik had never actually seen the prince in person, which was irritating, but did it really matter? _No,_ Wonshik thought, passing through the prince's private audience chamber and turning right down another hallway. The rumors were telling enough for him to be able to take the prince's measure.

And he’d seen the women with his own eyes. Maids usually, one escorted to the prince's chambers every evening and then sent away before midnight. Always with a tear in this garment or that. That just made Wonshik hate the prince more.

Wonshik kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked, not really focusing on anything in particular. His promotion would be made official tonight. He’d have to kneel to the Tyrant and the awful prince and then would exchange his scarlet cloak for one of bright silver.

This hallway would lead to the prince's bedchamber if he kept going all the way, but he would make a left soon and end up back in the servant’s wing. Just a few more feet and he’d had completed the loop-

A swish of black fabric in his peripheral caught Wonshik’s attention. Black cotton. The hem of a cloak.

He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword and stepped silently up to the wall, peering around the corner. If there was an intruder, he’d have to do his duty and dispatch or capture them, depending on the situation, no matter how much he’d like to just let them kill the prince if that’s what they were here for.

But it wasn’t- it wasn’t an intruder. Wonshik felt his well-suppressed temper ignite, taking in the scene in half a heartbeat. A grey cloaked guard had someone pushed up against a wall. Had their hands pinned at their side at an unnatural angle. A _painful_ angle. Soft little weepy cry’s barely audible as Wonshik met Ken's eyes. His hood was still up but nudged somewhat to the side, one of his pointy ears poking out. And his big brown eyes were red rimmed and shiny from crying.

Ken shook his head a tiny bit, as if telling Wonshik not to interfere, but Wonshik was already several steps beyond _‘staying out of it’._ And he was already several steps down the corridor.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” he hissed, grabbing the guard by the collar and dragging him away from Ken. Shoving him so hard his back collided with the opposite wall.

Wonshik didn’t know the guard by sight, which probably meant he was new. That was no fucking excuse for this behavior. 

The guard smiled at Wonshik, like it was some kind of joke. A joke that Wonshik, also being a guard, was supposed to be in on. “Come on,” he said, a sneer in his tone that Wonshik automatically despised, “The servants are fair game. _They_ don’t matter.”

“They’re human beings, show some respect,” Wonshik snapped, hauling the guard away to the mouth of the corridor and nearly tossing him in the direction of the throne room. Some words about reporting the incident to the guards commanding officer were probably necessary but Wonshik couldn’t find them. All he managed to snarl was, “Get out.”

“Are you alright? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Wonshik asked quietly, jogging back to where Ken was standing. His friend hadn’t moved an inch, breathing hard and eyes glazed over.

“Ken, say something, _please.”_

Ken coughed, doubling up so he was almost folded completely in half. Wonshik rubbed his back, not knowing what else to do. He hoped it was at least somewhat soothing and his friend didn’t flinch away. That was a good sign.

“I’m- fine,” Ken whispered, after nearly a full minute, straightening up. He wouldn’t meet Wonshik’s gaze. That _wasn’t_ a good sign.

“Why didn’t you want me to stop him? He was hurting you!” Wonshik exclaimed, looking his friend over. Checking for injuries. Ken gently shook him off and adjusted his hood so it was almost concealing his eyes.

“Better me than someone else. At least I deserve it.”

Wonshik blanched, cupping his friend’s cheek in one hand and tilting Ken’s face up. “You don’t-“ he cleared his throat, unable to bear the mix of exhaustion and self-hatred he saw in his friends’ eyes, _“Nobody_ deserves that, least of all you! How could you say something like that?”

“You don’t know me all that well, how can you be so sure?”

“I know because you’re good! You’re kind and gentle and funny and you don’t deserve to be hurt!” Wonshik replied, injecting his tone with all the sincerity he could. He wanted, no he _needed_ Ken to believe him.

Ken gave him a weak smile and nuzzled at Wonshik’s palm for a moment, but slowly pulled away. “That’s nice of you to say, but you should continue your rounds now. What if the prince needs you?”

“I don’t care about the prince! I want to make sure you’re alright!” Wonshik called, watching his friend slip away back down the corridor. He saw Ken’s shoulders shake with what could have either been a laugh or a sob. Or maybe he was coughing again.

“Will you come to the garden later? My promotion is going to be made official tonight and I don’t know how much free time I’ll have to see you after that?” he continued, shaking himself and following at a fast walk.

Ken disappeared around the corner without answering and Wonshik sped up to a jog, but when he reached the mouth of the corridor, his friend had just vanished. Not a swirl of black in sight.

When he made it to the garden for his watch, it was empty. And _remained_ empty. Ken never came.

~✵~✵~✵~

Wonshik kept his eyes respectfully lowered as he entered the main throne room in his formal uniform. All black leather and a cloak that looked like it’d been dipped in fresh blood. He had one hand behind his back, one on the pommel of his sword, white gloves disguising the fact that his fingers had begun to tremble.

He’s even combed his hair for the bastards.

“Kneel, commander Kim Wonshik.”

That was the Tyrant’s voice, Wonshik knew all too well. Deep and rough.

He knelt on the cold marble floor, eyes down, listening to the sound of movement in front of him. Folding one arm so his fist was over his heart.

“Do you swear to protect the life of his highness, Crown Prince Jaehwan by any means necessary?”

“I swear it,” Wonshik replied, stopping himself from gritting his teeth.

“Do you swear to sacrifice yourself for his highness, Crown Prince Jaehwan without a moment’s hesitation?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you swear to put the needs of his highness, Crown Prince Jaehwan above your own?”

“I swear it.”

“And do you swear your unflinching loyalty to his highness, Crown Prince Jaehwan, for as long as you draw breath?”

“I swear it.”

The Tyrant had been the one asking the questions, but silence fell, a shiny pair of white dress shoes stepping lightly down from the dais and stopping before Wonshik. They were polished so perfectly Wonshik could nearly see his own reflection.

A light cough.

“Rise, _Captain_ Kim Wonshik.”

_That_ voice was altogether different. And hauntingly familiar. Wonshik kept his face a stone, not letting even the barest hint of emotion show. Not letting his shock be seen even as he stood and came face to face with Ken.

But it _wasn’t_ Ken, not the Ken he’d gotten to know over the past week.

No, this man was _visibly_ cold. Without his cotton cloak, Wonshik could see that his hair was a silvery platinum blonde, swept up off his face in a graceful wave. Ken was almost unrecognizable like this. Kohl darkening his lashes and a smirk curling his pretty mouth. Shrouded entirely in white, silver epaulets and embroidery decorating his jacket and a cloak of snow-white fox fur hanging off his shoulders, so it trailed on the floor.

Wonshik didn’t allow his eyes to narrow as he bent at the waist, taking one of Ken’s hands in his and brushing his lips across the silver signet ring he found there. _Crown Prince Jaehwan’s_ hand.

Captain Kim Wonshik, new personal bodyguard of the crown prince, did not know what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neo comes later I promise lol


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its like 3:45 am heyyyy lolol

~✵~✵~✵~

~✵~✵~✵~

Wonshik stood at the crown prince’s side, unwavering, eyes fixed on the back of his head. That thick coiffure of silvery blonde hair which caught the lights glinting from the chandeliers above like strands of diamond. He watched as Jaehwan smiled at a passing woman, noted the difference. Not the beam that spread over his entire face. This was a cold smile, more like a smirk, lips slightly pulled back so one could see his pointy, puppy teeth. A fake smile. Wonshik would stake his right arm on it. 

He still couldn’t understand the switch that had taken place right before his eyes. His sweet little friend who was always hiding, with a laugh that rang like fairy bells in Wonshik’s ears. Morphed into this detestable creature, haughty and conceited and drenched in a wealth so decadent it turned Wonshik’s stomach. How could these two polar opposites be one in the same? 

“Father, I wish to be excused. These,” the prince, Jaehwan, waved a hand out at the crowd of nobles without even looking, _“People_ are boring me.”

The Tyrant turned his head, slow, examining Jaehwan through slitted eyes. Suspicious and full of a base dislike that Wonshik didn’t think anyone else had picked up on. Jaehwan coughed lightly into his handkerchief, dropping his gaze to the floor as he did so, and Wonshik saw the hatred in the Tyrant's eyes increase. 

“Go,” the Tyrant grumbled, and Jaehwan turned without ceremony. Leaving the ballroom at a measured but fast walk. 

Wonshik followed the prince, not close enough to touch him but close _enough._

Jaehwan got maybe two steps in front of him, now coughing harder into the crook of his arm, and he vanished through a side door Wonshik knew led into his private wing. Wonshik slowed his pace, hesitant to be alone with this man who he knew not at all. Who he’d heard so many despicable things about. 

He had a chance now, Wonshik thought as he stepped through the door. Kill the prince and leave his corpse cooling in what was no doubt a lavish bed. And then make his move. Trace the root he’d mentally mapped out to the Tyrant's rooms and slit his throat once he’d fallen asleep. 

Wonshik had always planned to kill the prince, the spoiled, pampered brat who paraded about the castle like a-

A loud clatter of metal on stone drew Wonshik back to himself and he hurried into the hall. Wordless shouting, the prince glaring at a maid. A tray of dirty dishes littering the floor and sprays of wine staining the prince's pristine white coat. Wonshik was sure it was anger that he saw on Jaehwan’s face now, that his precious clothing had been ruined by a mere servant. 

For a heartbeat, Wonshik thought Jaehwan was going to strike the woman. But then... 

“I’m so sorry highness, I didn’t mean-“

“How many times have I told you, don’t work while you’re in this condition! You’ll get yourself hurt!” Jaehwan whisper-shouted, not seeming to notice his ruined jacket as he raised his hands to the woman’s shoulders. Not shaking her, like Wonshik assumed he would have done. Helping her stand up right. 

The woman _did_ appear unwell, now that Wonshik got a closer look at her, eyes bright with fever and skin too pale. 

“Go home at once,” Jaehwan said, no longer sounding upset. Only concerned. A genuine concern that baffled Wonshik. 

Jaehwan helped the woman over to the entrance of a servant’s passage and he gently nudged her through it. His whisper was almost too soft for Wonshik to hear. 

“I’ll send one of the women to check on you tomorrow. Don’t worry about losing your job, I won’t let it happen. You’ll be cared for, just focus on getting better please.”

The woman nodded, patting Jaehwan’s cheek with obvious affection before bowing and scurrying away. 

Wonshik cleared his throat. Reminding the prince that he was there and that he had witnessed this uncharacteristically kind display. Jaehwan whirled on Wonshik, hair rustling like a sparking cascade. “You’re to keep your mouth shut about this, that is an order. Tell no one.”

Jaehwan began coughing again, the soles of his fancy shoes slapping against the stone floor as he padded away. Not waiting for Wonshik’s answer. Not expecting protest. 

Not actually _planning_ to protest but still irritated by the assumption of obedience, Wonshik followed after the prince. Down hall after hall, then left, then right, then another right, then they were walking through the doors of the prince's bedchamber. Passed the hall guards who did nothing but clap hands to chests in salute, and then they were alone. 

Alone. Wonshik and Ken- _Prince Jaehwan_ were alone. Wonshik did his utmost not to gape. 

He’d gone through the prince's apartments many times but never actually entered this room, this chamber, where Jaehwan laid his head down to rest each night, where he was rumored to spend the majority of his time. It was lavish, but not in the way Wonshik had been expecting. 

The floors were comprised entirely of ivory that was so perfectly polished it seemed to glow. Eggshell walls and silver crown molding, a crystal chandelier. Four poster bed draped with a canopy of white linen, that put Wonshik in mind of a child’s tent. White painted wooden vanity and a low white sofa scattered with silver cushions and mirrors paneling all walls but one. A floor to ceiling window stretched across the fourth so when Wonshik looked around, it felt as though he’d stepped inside a kaleidoscope. 

“Out,” Jaehwan snapped, shooing a man Wonshik hadn’t noticed from the room. The prince's manservant. He scuttled out the way Wonshik had just entered, head bowed at the swift dismissal. 

Wonshik watched the prince stroll purposefully behind a dressing screen. Saw his feet move in the gap beneath the screen and the floor. Saw him step out of shoes, saw his now stained coat fall down around his heels. Jaehwan hadn’t acknowledged Wonshik’s presence and as such, Wonshik didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to do. 

Falling back into default mode, Wonshik stood at ease, feet shoulder-width apart, hands clasped in front of him, eyes sliding out of focus as he stared at the mirrored wall opposite. His new silver cloak and formal uniform matched the decor in this room so well that Wonshik thought he resembled a piece of furniture. 

“There’s an antechamber for you, just over there. Or you can stand by the door all night like a statue, I care not,” Jaehwan called, breezing out from behind his dressing screen and taking a seat in front of his vanity. Body now swathed in white cotton trousers and a silver tunic. 

Thin, airy clothing. Because it didn’t matter if the world outside was on the edge of winter if you lived in an enormous palace full of lit fireplaces that burned at every hour of the day. 

Wonshik was struck with a flash of memory. His mother and father, bundled up in at least two layers each, letting a child Wonshik squish in between them after he’d had a bad dream. Cuddled under their thick quilt and feeling like he was surrounded by pillows. Because it was winter. And their small home was always _frigid_ in winter. 

“So... you’re not going to explain _any_ of this to me?” Wonshik asked, watching Jaehwan in his peripheral. Watching him wipe his eyes with damp cotton squares, the fabric coming away black with kohl. 

“It doesn’t matter now. You know who I am.”

“Was anything you told me true? Your mother-“ Jaehwan flinched but Wonshik pressed on, “Was that a lie? Do you really hate guards? Is your sickness just another facade?”

“I _never_ lied to you.”

“You told me you work in the palace.”

“I _do_ work in the palace, as an heir apparent and Crown Prince. That is my _job._ That is my _function_ in this place.”

Jaehwan dabbed at his face with a washcloth and then picked up a silver comb, embedded with ivory flowers and mother of pearl. 

“You said that I’m sweet.”

“You _are_ sweet,” the prince muttered, dragging the comb through his hair. Working whatever substance kept it in those waves away, so the strands fluttered, soft and malleable, down across his forehead. 

Wonshik cleared his throat. “You also said the prince was terrible. Were you lying?”

“The prince _is_ terrible. He _has_ to be terrible. That is what is expected of him.”

“Ken, will you just-“

Jaehwan shifted around on his vanity stool and glared. “You know my proper name now, Wonshik, _use it.”_

Wonshik stared back at him. Cool. Possessing an outward calm that was absolutely not mirrored internally. _Internally,_ Wonshik was screaming. He didn’t understand this situation, and accidentally befriending this prince had thrown a wrench in his years-long plan. 

Because he _couldn’t_ kill Jaehwan. How could he kill something that had so much life? He’d seen the life in Jaehwan, rolling around the garden, giggling like a madman, feeding birds from the palm of his hand. 

“Apologies, highness,” Wonshik replied quietly. Jaehwan pursed his lips. He looked like he was about to say something else but refrained. 

“What of your women, highness? I’ve seen them leaving this chamber with my own eyes and I’ve heard worse.” 

Wonshik watched Jaehwan snatch up a blue glass bottle and unscrew the top. It had a dropper, and he dribbled some honey colored liquid into his mouth, grimacing at the taste. 

“We play cards.”

“Pardon?”

Jaehwan coughed, but it was a thick sound now. Not so shaky and dry. That liquid must have been medicine of some kind. “The women and I play cards. Or sometimes checkers.”

Wonshik scoffed. “I’ve seen them, highness, how do they tear their clothing playing cards?”

“Just one tear,” Jaehwan mumbled, standing on wobbly legs and toddling over to his bed. “To make people think exactly what you are thinking now. Only one tear, and I give them coin to replace their dresses if they cannot be repaired.”

This story was so unexpected that it actually startled a laugh from Wonshik. “So, what, highness? You run about the palace grounds pretending to be a peasant and play cards with serving maids, but in reality, you’re the Crown Prince who is widely disliked for his callousness?” he asked, baffled by the absurdity of the situation. 

Jaehwan nodded. He climbed up into bed and huddled under the covers like he planned on going to sleep with Wonshik still standing there. It wouldn’t be so strange, he supposed, for a person who was so accustomed to having guards around at all times. But _that_ was another question, presenting itself as though by a butler on a silver platter. 

“What happened to my predecessor, highness?”

A soft sigh. Jaehwan poked his head out from between the curtains, a stuffed rabbit clutched in the crook of his arm. Well loved, that rabbit. It had once been white, Wonshik could tell, but now it was a dull grey. Like a comfort object that the prince refused to wash. Incongruous, in this chamber of cream and ivory. A dirty remnant of a childhood long gone. 

“He fell off a balcony.”

Wonshik blinked. “Fell off a _balcony?”_

“Yes.” Jaehwan disappeared behind his curtains and Wonshik moved forward, pace slow, not wanting to alarm the prince. He heard a cough. Muffled by goose down and thick cotton. 

“May I sit beside you, highness?” Wonshik asked, feeling strange about asking such a question when he’d sat with Jaehwan in a garden many times before. But not when he was _Crown Prince Jaehwan,_ only Ken the servant boy. The ground seemed to have shifted under Wonshik’s feet and he didn’t know how to put it to rights. 

A hand extended through the curtain and waved ascent. Wonshik walked the rest of the way and parted the fabric, finding Jaehwan wrapped up in a thick white quilt, propped on a mountain of pillows. The quilt was woven with bright silver threads, as were the pillowcases, and the roof of the canopy was scattered with frosty fabric roses and strings of pearl. It was like a virginal, immaculate cocoon. 

“Why is everything white?” Wonshik asked, fixating on the prince's pointy nose poking out from the covers and perching on the edge of the bed. Jaehwan coughed. “It’s good for my mind. Helps me stay calm, at least that’s what his majesty's doctor says. I need to be kept calm,” he replied quietly, pointedly not meeting Wonshik’s eye. 

A worrying statement, no doubt. Wonshik shifted a little so he was seated more fully on the bed, not simply hanging on the edge like an anxious bird. 

“Why do you need to be kept calm?”

Jaehwan was eyeing Wonshik’s sword, he realized. Sensing no imminent danger and wanting to put Jaehwan a bit more at ease, Wonshik unbuckled his scabbard and set the sheathed sword on the floor. _You’re such an idiot,_ Wonshik mentally chastised himself. _By all rights, this man needs to die. Why do you always get so easily attached!?_

Wriggling around so he was lying on his side, Jaehwan peered at Wonshik quizzically. His soft cheek squished against the stuffed rabbits and sandwiching it between him and a pillow. “Are you still my friend?”

Such an earnest question, Wonshik felt himself smile a little. “If you’re truly the sweet person I met in the royal gardens, then yes. I am still your friend.”

“You may be my friend, but can I trust you?” Jaehwan hummed, feet shifting under the covers. Against his better judgment, Wonshik replied that “Yes, you can trust me.”

His plan was no longer a simple _‘hit and run’._ He couldn’t just kill the royals and then go into hiding in the country. Jaehwan was a variable that Wonshik hadn’t been expecting, but not dealing with him now would be impossible. There was more to this picture, Wonshik simply couldn’t see the whole thing yet. 

Jaehwan sat up so the covers slid down to the tops of his shoulders. “I never told you a lie, Wonshik. I may have dodged specific questions about my occupation, but I never lied. My mother _was_ killed. And my father. Right in front of me. My-“ the prince shuddered, nuzzling the rabbits velvet ear, “I can still remember the warmth of my mother’s blood on my face. I feel it always. I see the life draining from her every time I close my eyes.”

Wonshik fought not to wince. “Why were they- who did it?”

“His majesty killed my father and then made me watch as a guard slit my mother's throat.” The words sounded automatic. Like Jaehwan had repeated them in front of a mirror to try and desensitize himself to them. Try and take away the sting. 

“I’m sorry,” Wonshik said quietly, reaching out to pat Jaehwan’s foot over the quilt. Jaehwan shook his head, closing those knife bright eyes. “My mother was loyal to the old king. She worked as the queen's chambermaid and when the whole ordeal began, she woke the prince and stole away with him. I don’t know where she took him, but she was _sure_ he survived. Before we were arrested, I remember as clear as if it was yesterday, she knelt before me and told me that she didn’t act thoughtlessly. That she did not regret her loyalty and told me that if I remembered only one thing about her, that I remember she did the honorable thing.”

Wonshik wanted to gather the prince up in a hug, but he stayed perfectly still, Jaehwan’s eyes opening and that brown gaze fixing him in place. “His majesty made me watch because he wanted me to know what happens to traitors.”

It finally sunk in then, what Jaehwan had said- “Wait, your father? Do you mean that his majesty is _not_ your father?” he asked, trying to be gentle about it but mind reeling from this revelation. Wonshik wouldn’t have put it past the Tyrant to kill his own wife, but if Jaehwan wasn’t truly his son... What did that mean? Mean for Jaehwan, mean for the kingdom? What on earth did that mean for Wonshik?

Jaehwan’s hand darted out from under the quilt and he gripped Wonshik’s wrist, tight as a vice. “You must tell no one, Wonshik. Not a soul. If it is discovered I am not of noble blood, his majesty will kill me.”

“I won’t, but, Jaehwan why are you being kept here? Why didn’t his majesty simply kill you as a child? And why haven’t you run away?”

“His majesty is infertile, another thing you must never tell,” Jaehwan squeezed Wonshik’s wrist tighter. “He needed an heir, and I was right there, already broken and scared into obedience. And this,” long slim fingers plucking at his own hair, “Helps me pass as a noble. Not the right shade, not _gold_ enough, he tells me every day, but close.”

“But why haven’t you-“

Jaehwan slumped over, burying his face in one of the pillows and releasing Wonshik as he lapsed into a coughing fit. Whole body shaking, shoulders hunched. When he lifted his head, Wonshik was alarmed to see red flecks lingering on the white pillowcase where the prince's mouth had just been. 

“Why haven’t I run away?” Jaehwan rolled a bit and took a hand towel from the bedside table, dabbing at his mouth before collapsing on his back once more. Hugging his rabbit tight and staring unfocused up at the canopy. “I tried once, didn’t make it very far.”

That last sentence sounded so pitiful that Wonshik wanted to cry. “I need to sleep now, that syrup makes me drowsy. There is an antechamber for you if that’s where you wish you stay, or you can-“ a cough, “Stay here next to me, if you’d like.”

“I’m not sure that would be appropriate, highness,” Wonshik carefully replied. Not because he had any wish to leave the prince's side so soon, but because he was supposed to _guard_ Jaehwan. What if a servant walked in? Worse, what if the Tyrant came to check on Jaehwan and found Wonshik in his bed? That last may have been giving the Tyrant too much credit. There wasn’t a paternal bone in the vile man’s body and Jaehwan wasn’t truly his son. “Wouldn’t the servants find it odd?”

“No servant enters this chamber without my guard’s permission,” Jaehwan replied, shifting over and extinguishing the lamp at his bedside. “You yourself are a safeguard to keep me here, Wonshik, his majesty believes you will not allow anyone in here that may aid in my escape.”

“Oh,” Wonshik breathed. He understood that, sort of. “Then, would you like me to stay here with you? Nothing indecent, on my honor.”

Jaehwan smiled at that, a small smile but a real one. “I like you very much. So sweet.”

His eyes were closed but he still turned his head in Wonshik’s direction, as if looking at him. “Please just take off your shoes. I’ll be asleep in a matter of moments; I feel myself drifting already. You may do any indecent thing to me you wish,” he hummed, head lolling slightly and grip on his rabbit slackening. 

Wonshik- Wonshik had no idea what he was supposed to say to that other than a stuttered, _‘I’d never’,_ so he kept his mouth shut. Bending at the waist to tug off his boots. He unfastened the silver cloak from around his shoulders and folded it carefully, setting it on the ivory floor. Then he shrugged off his uniform jacket and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his tunic. That would have to do for now, until the rest of his possessions were moved into the prince's private wing. 

Debating whether or not to get under the quilt, Wonshik looked around to find that Jaehwan had indeed fallen asleep. The false prince was cherubic, slumber smoothing the lines from his forehead and the corners of his eyes. Lips slightly parted and platinum hair framing his face like a halo. Truer beauty Wonshik had never seen.

Jaehwan coughed, just a little, not as violently as before and the noise didn’t wake him. Wonshik frowned. He didn’t understand Jaehwan’s illness, but the cause didn’t seem important. The fact that he was sick at all worried Wonshik. 

Under the quilt but on top of the sheets. That would at least preserve _a bit_ of decency between them. Wonshik nodded to himself and got up, dousing the remaining lamps before carefully getting into the enormous bed. Moving slowly so as not to jostle Jaehwan awake. 

He lay on his side and looked at the prince's face for a moment more. The rabbit had slipped out of Jaehwan’s hands and Wonshik took the stuffed creature, tucking it securely under Jaehwan’s arm. 

Lying there, in the glittering dark, cradled by the most comfortable mattress he’d ever encountered, Wonshik contemplated the cruel twist of fate that brought his friend to this point. Scared, sick, and alone. Forced to act the part of a wretched degenerate for fear of his life. And he thought of the story of Jaehwan’s mother. That bitter last moment, when she declared that the life of someone else’s son was more important than her own, for no other reason than the circumstances of birth. 

~✵~✵~✵~

It felt like only a moment later that Wonshik jolted awake, but it must have been hours. He looked around, searching for a clock, but he was still shrouded beneath Jaehwan’s large canopy bed and could see nothing. 

Wonshik rolled out of bed and stepped lightly into his boots, grabbing his sword and unsheathing it in one swift motion. The noise that had woken him came again, a loud clanging, thundering of several pairs of running feet in heavy boots a few hallways away. 

Blindly buckling the sword belt around his waist, Wonshik crept towards the chamber door. Blade raised and sleep falling from him like snow being shaken from the branches of a tree. _Something_ was happening. Wonshik had stood guard in those hallways for a week. Nothing like this commotion had ever happened, and if it was a drill, he would have been informed. Because the life of the crown prince was in his hands and the chance wouldn’t be taken that Wonshik may engage emergency protocols. 

No, this was something- 

One of the mirrored panels on the wall popped silently open and Wonshik swung around, too startled to make any noise. To call for reinforcements or shout for Jaehwan. He just stood there, dumbstruck, as a man shrouded entirely in black stepped out of a concealed passageway. 

“Shit,” the man breathed, finally noticing Wonshik. Eyeing him from over his cowl. Sizing Wonshik up. 

“State your business here,” Wonshik asked, keeping his voice low now that he’d finally gathered his wits about him. He risked a glance toward the bed but there were no signs of movement. Jaehwan must still be asleep. _Good._

The man took a half step forward and Wonshik matched him, moving around so he angled his body between the man and the bed. “I’ve come to end the blight on this kingdom,” the man replied, soft voice higher than Wonshik had been expecting. No fear there, but something that sounded a lot like frustration. 

_End the blight..._ he must have come to kill the Tyrant. And he must have failed. _Well, shit._

The man had a wicked looking knife in one hand but was clutching his side with the other, moonlight pouring in from the windows darkening the blood rolling down his arm to an oily black sheen. He was injured. If he came to kill the Tyrant, he’d also probably come for Jaehwan and while Wonshik could sympathize with the first impulse, he wouldn’t allow Jaehwan to be murdered in his sleep. 

Banging on the chamber door made Wonshik jump.

“Don’t move,” he hissed at the man, mind making frantic calculations as he jogged to the door and opened it a crack. 

“Captain! There’s been an attempt on his majesty’s life, you are to take the crown prince to safety at once and as discreetly as you can-“ 

A younger guard had pushed his way inside, the frantic whispering cutting off in a gulp as he caught sight of the hooded stranger. _Fuck._

“Listen lieutenant, you- _god fucking damn it!”_

Wonshik caught the guard as he stumbled forwards, the stranger's knife buried in his chest. It had been expertly thrown, piercing the guard’s heart, but Wonshik still felt warm blood splatter across his neck, oozing from the wound and soaking the front of his tunic. 

Taking a moment to see if he knew the guard, Wonshik found that his face was familiar. The imbecile who’d cornered Jaehwan in the hallway. Suddenly, Wonshik felt a lot less bad watching the man draw in his last rattling breath. 

“I need to get you out of here, they’ll make an example of you if they catch you,” Wonshik hissed, whirling on the intruder and sheathing his sword. 

Dark, catlike eyes blinked at him in confusion. “What?!”

Wonshik had made up his mind on the spot. He and this man shared a goal and Wonshik wouldn’t allow the man to be captured. “I’ll explain later, we need to go, now-“

“Wonshik?”

_Fuck._

“Wonshik, what’s going on?”

Wonshik turned slowly on the spot. Jaehwan had slunk from his cocoon, bare feet on the ivory floor and his overly large silver tunic hanging off one shoulder. Hair sleep-mussed and stuffed rabbit dangling from one hand. It was such a soft picture that Wonshik almost forgot about the dead man on the floor. Almost. 

Jaehwan’s drowsy eyes widened and he began to scream. High pitched and shrill as he scrambled back onto his bed, long limbs tangling in the curtains. Terror incarnate. 

The intruder took several steps in his direction but Wonshik was already there, covering Jaehwan’s mouth with one hand and simultaneously trying to untangle him. “Jaehwan, it’s okay, please stop screaming, _please,”_ he said, attempting to coax the prince back to calmness. 

It wasn’t working. Jaehwan was writhing in his grip, breath coming hot and fast against Wonshik’s palm, eyes so wide that Wonshik could see the whites. Jaehwan wasn’t looking at him, and it took a solid three seconds to realize that Jaehwan was staring at the bloody knife Wonshik had pulled from the guard’s chest. Now lying abandoned when Wonshik had dropped it on the foot of the bed. 

“Be quiet, Jaehwan, _fuck_ just-“ Wonshik hissed, the prince taking a swipe at his cheek. The sting of skin breaking in shallow trails. Wonshik hugged Jaehwan to his front, trapping his arms, but it was only making them both more panicked. 

“If you really want to get me out of here, we _need_ to shut him up,” the stranger murmured, voice cold as ice. He’d appeared at Wonshik's side without a sound, reaching for the knife. Jaehwan squealed and then finally started to sob, tears streaming down his cheeks and mingling with the blood staining Wonshik’s hand. Bursts of coughing mingled with his cries. 

“Jaehwan, trust me, everything is going to be alright,” Wonshik said, releasing the prince just long enough to get a good grip on the hilt of his sword. Then with a whispered, “Forgive me,” Wonshik brought the blade around. It's blunt pommel connected with the side of Jaehwan’s head with a sickening _thud._

The prince fell unconscious in a heartbeat, slumping limp and quiet back on the mattress, but Wonshik’s brain was already three steps ahead. 

“Don’t move,” he snapped at the man, hurrying to the wardrobe behind Jaehwan’s dressing screen and riffling around the bottom of it until he found a small satchel. In it, he dropped the blue glass medicine bottle, Jaehwan’s signet ring, and a pair of thick woolen socks. That would have to do for now, they could figure out provisions later. 

“You want to take him with us!? It’s going to be hard enough getting out with just us two,” the stranger hissed, watching Wonshik bundle the unconscious prince in a navy traveling cloak. On a whim, he grabbed the bunny and stuffed that in the satchel as well. 

“He’s coming, not up for negotiation,” Wonshik replied, cold. He fastened his own cloak around his shoulders backward, so the silver velvet was inside and the black lining visible instead. 

The stranger sighed, clearly frustrated, but Wonshik ignored it. He slung the satchel across his body and then scooped the sickly prince into his arms, carrying him easily into the bathing room and over to a servant passage he’d checked out three days before. 

Being careful not to hit Jaehwan’s head on the doorframe, Wonshik stepped through. He shot the intruder a dark look. This situation honestly _couldn’t_ get any more complicated. 

“Let’s get going.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by @taekwoncheeks  
> praise her


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this both is longer and took longer than I was expecting lol
> 
> jaehwan cries a lot in this chapter, so apologies in advance for that

~✵~✵~✵~

~✵~✵~✵~

“You really did a number on the poor thing.”

Wonshik blinked his weary, bloodshot eyes. Managing nothing but a small nod. Every five minutes or so he would surface, drawn back to himself by a noise or sudden movement. Like just then, Hakyeon’s soft murmuring as he tended to Jaehwan’s head.

The journey to this cottage had been a whirlwind.

He and the stranger had made hasty work of the palace's secret passages. Finding their way into the stables and stealing a pair of chestnut mares, managing not to wake the stable boys snoozing in the hay loft as they made their escape. Wonshik’s unknown accomplice had only rode the stolen horse until they were safely outside the palace grounds. They’d stopped, and he’d swapped the mare for a stallion, at least twenty hands high, with a golden coat that gleamed glossy in the moonlight. Wonshik had spared a moment to marvel at the beast, the way the stranger swung up onto its saddle with a wince, before checking that the unconscious prince balanced between his arms wasn’t in danger of slipping.

They’d ridden for hours through the darkness, the golden horse leading the way. Not stopping for food, not stopping to rest, not even stopping when the stranger swayed in his stirrups and half slumped over. _‘Just blood loss, keep riding,’_ he’d said, so soft it was barely audible, and Wonshik had decided it best not to argue.

The stallion had brought them to Hakyeon. To this cottage concealed miles into the uninhabited forest inside which Wonshik now sat. Taekwoon had told him a few minutes after their arrival that his mount was trained to bring him here if he was injured. That was the strangers name. Taekwoon. Finally introducing himself as he stripped off the layers of black clothing that concealed his appearance. An angular face, slightly pinched mouth, and hair like ribbons of molten gold. The _true_ prince, safely hidden away after the Tyrant’s coup, now full grown and hell-bent on revenge.

Hakyeon -it hadn’t taken much deduction on Wonshik’s part to figure out- was Taekwoon’s partner. He was a physician, or was trained in the healing arts at least, and he’d stitched up the slice in Taekwoon’s side with the sort of clinical disapproval that broadcast his feelings loud and clear. Hakyeon didn’t like what Taekwoon had done, didn’t like the reasons why he’d done it, but had resolved to keep Taekwoon alive anyway. And the gentle kiss on Taekwoon's forehead after tucking him under the covers on a cot in the corner told Wonshik something else. Hakyeon may not endorse Taekwoon’s actions, but he loved the prince regardless.

“He’s sick. I hit him in the head. I forgot how weak he was, and I hit too hard,” Wonshik repeated for what felt like the eighteen-thousandth time. It had been a full day and night and day again since they’d made their daring escape. Jaehwan hadn’t stirred.

Wonshik was almost nauseous with guilt, perched on a small stool beside the cot Jaehwan had been deposited on. He hadn’t moved in hours. Refused the food Hakyeon kept trying to force upon him. Wonshik hadn’t slept since he’d been woken by the sound of Taekwoon’s failed assassination attempt. Jaehwan barely even breathed now, he only coughed weakly every few minutes or whined some unintelligible word. It was like he’d taken a sleeping draft instead of blunt-force trauma to the head.

“He’ll be alright,” Hakyeon replied, dabbing at Jaehwan’s forehead with a wet cloth. Checking the bandage wrapped around his silver head like a crown. Wonshik had seen the gash, stared at it for at least a third of their journey, tried to mop up the blood trickling down from Jaehwan’s hairline with the corner of his cloak. Hakyeon had taken over as soon as they’d arrived. He’d cleaned the wound and gently washed the dried blood from Jaehwan’s hair and skin, exchanged the silver tunic for one of clean white cotton, and then set about making the false prince as comfortable as possible.

“How do you know?” Wonshik asked, repeating himself again. Always repeating himself. An endless cycle. Hakyeon gave him a patient smile. “Your friend's body is doing what it needs, giving itself time to heal,” he replied, sitting up straighter as Taekwoon entered the cabin’s main room.

His golden head brushed a bushel of some unidentifiable herbs when he came through the door, and he swatted at it. Like a cat swatting at a ball of twine. Wonshik looked away from him, then down at Jaehwan, then let his eyes drift. Watching the midday light tracking across the clean wooden floors.

“We need to talk,” Taekwoon said, dropping a pair of dead rabbits on the floor by the door and beginning to pace. He’d been out hunting for their dinner. Jaehwan wouldn’t like that, Wonshik thought, glancing at the stuffed rabbit he’d tucked carefully in the crook of Jaehwan’s arm.

“What about?”

Taekwoon gave a delicate sniff that made Wonshik flinch. “You’re trying to heal this person, who has been sitting on _my_ throne and living in _my_ room and ruling _my_ kingdom for almost thirteen years. I want him dead, _need_ him dead, and yet you sit there and _save_ him.”

“He’s just a kid, Woonie, he didn’t know what he was doing. Can you really blame him? Being raised by that monster?” Hakyeon asked, setting the cloth down and giving Taekwoon a stern look.

Wonshik was only half tuned into the conversation. Jaehwan’s fingers had curled around the edge of the blanket, knuckles bloodless. The flesh under his fingernails was a pale shade of purple, just like the lines rimming his eyes. This fact bothered Wonshik. Jaehwan’s nails. It was like he wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

“I absolutely _can_ blame him,” Taekwoon replied coldly, flinging himself into an overstuffed armchair and sighing before jumping up again. “He isn’t a _kid._ He’s a grown up and is very much responsible for his actions, and I would have killed him two days ago if this one didn’t stop me.”

_This one._ As though Wonshik were a child causing trouble underfoot. Wonshik reached out and absently brushed his fingertips across Jaehwan’s knuckles.

Taekwoon had continued speaking but Wonshik had missed some of his words, only refocusing when he heard the word ‘knife’.

“Where did you put it, I thought you were just cleaning it.”

“I hid it, obviously. You always underestimate how well I know your mind, Woonie.”

A fist slamming against the wall made Wonshik flinch again.

“Give it to me! Now! I need to finish this!”

“No. And stop shouting.”

“Hakyeon!”

Getting no response to his tantrum, Taekwoon snarled wordlessly. Spinning on his heels and stalking away into the kitchen. Hakyeon had gotten up at some point, and he’d picked the damp cloth up as well, wringing it anxiously behind his back so little droplets of water dripped onto the floor.

Wonshik pulled his eyes away from his friend's nails just in time to see the prince slink back into the room, a wicked sharp cooking knife in his hand. The kind of blade Wonshik’s mother always used to chop vegetables. The sight of it clasped in Taekwoon’s spidery fingers, the way the sunlight glinted on its edge, flipped a switch in Wonshik’s brain. He was strung out, sleep deprived, and suddenly, _profoundly_ angry.

“You,” he snapped, darting uptight and whipping out the small knife he always wore on his belt. He leveled its point at Taekwoon’s head. “You don’t know what the fuck your talking about.”

Apparently caught off guard by Wonshik’s abrupt shift in temperament, Taekwoon stopped in his tracks. That was a good start.

“Do you remember your escape from the palace? You were what, fifteen? I know you remember,” Wonshik went on, regretting his next words even before they’d formed on his tongue. In all honesty, Wonshik didn’t know Jaehwan very well. He had no right to feel as protective towards Jaehwan as he did. And he’d been hoping that Jaehwan would wake up and be able to tell his story himself. A foolhardy thing to hope, maybe, but he’d still hoped. Wonshik would have to handle it himself now though. No other choice.

Taekwoon eyed him, nodding slowly.

“Then I’m sure you remember a woman, the queen's chambermaid, helping you during that escape?” Wonshik continued, his temper sending the fingers of his left hand trembling slightly. If Jaehwan had been bluffing, that bluff was about to be called.

But Taekwoon nodded again, in confirmation. Wonshik released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and advanced. Pacing up to the prince and facing off. Taekwoon was tall but Wonshik was taller, slightly, pleased that he could look down on the man when they were eye to eye.

“That,” Wonshik hissed, gesturing backward at the cot with the hand still gripping his knife, “is your savior’s son. The woman that helped you escape had a son. She and her husband were both murdered by your uncle, and Jaehwan has been held captive as a placeholder for _you_ for almost thirteen years! He is traumatized! His _entire_ family paid for your freedom, so don’t talk about him like he’s some horrible monster! Not in front of me! I won’t allow it!”

Wonshik forced himself to stop talking, to lower his voice, finding that his breath was coming fast and shallow. He was pleased to see that Taekwoon’s eyes had gone wide with shock and his expression, could it be, a little abashed?

“I didn’t-“

Taekwoon’s reply was cut short by a whine from the cot and Wonshik whirled around. His friends' hands were twitching. Brow scrunching up and lashes beginning to flutter. Wonshik had returned to Jaehwan's side before he even realized he’d decided to move, kneeling next to him and taking Jaehwan’s hand in his own. It felt cool and dry, maybe a shade too cool actually.

Jaehwan woke with a yip -that was the only way Wonshik could describe it- and his eyes flew open. Staring blankly at Hakyeon, then at Taekwoon, and finally at Wonshik. Piercing Wonshik with an alertness he hadn’t been expecting for maybe two, three seconds. And then Jaehwan began to scream.

“Hey, hey it’s okay, you’re safe,” Wonshik tried, heart leaping into his throat as Jaehwan wrenched away from him. Tore his hand free and skittered back, curling in on himself when his back collided with the wall. He sat there at the head of the cot, knees to chest and hands over his eyes, his wordless cries so hollow and desperate it was almost like newborn grief.

Wonshik didn't hesitate, scooting closer and attempting to wrap his friend in a hug. Jaehwan fought him, tearing at the bandages around his head with wild ferocity.

Blood fanned down the side of his face, fresh scarlet. He’d opened up the wound Hakyeon had been tending too so carefully. If it hurt him, Jaehwan didn’t seem fazed. He just screamed more shrilly at the sight of blood on his fingertips.

“Stop that, Jaehwan come here, you’re only going to make it worse,” Wonshik said, trying to make his tone both firm and gentle. He reached for Jaehwan again, this time successfully managing to get an arm around his narrow shoulders.

Hakyeon had unfrozen by that point, resuming his position beside the cot and murmuring softly, the way one would speak to a frightened animal.

Fear shining in his eyes, Jaehwan peered blearily up at Wonshik, unfocused. All the color had drained from his face so he looked like a wailing specter. Frozen in eternal pain.

Wonshik’s vision blurred with sudden tears. He didn’t let them fall, _couldn’t_ let them fall in front of these strangers, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to take his friends' pain away. Unburden Jaehwan. Carry the weight of his sadness so that Jaehwan could breathe peacefully, even just for a few minutes.

Jaehwan screamed until his throat was torn raw. No longer able to speak, only making hoarse croaking noises in between violent fits of coughing. But he did eventually relent, allowing Wonshik to hold him and rock him a little until the tears had dried away. Leaving him shaky and weak.

“Let Hakyeon patch you up, it will be alright,” Wonshik said, once the cabin was silent again. He glanced around to see how the others had taken Jaehwan’s turbulent return to consciousness. Hakyeon had gone and then returned with clean bandages and a glass of water, fluttering his hands after setting them down. Taekwoon was still standing where Wonshik had left him, the kitchen knife hanging loose in his grip and expression one of utter bewilderment.

Jaehwan’s fingers curled in Wonshik’s' shirt. They’d ended up on the floor somehow, the false prince pressed so close it was like they'd been glued together. Wonshik ran one hand up and down Jaehwan’s worryingly scabby forearm. He was trying to stifle the vitus still dripping slowly from Jaehwan’s temple with his sleeve, applying pressure but not enough to cause more harm.

“So much _blood,”_ Jaehwan whimpered, hiccupping against Wonshik’s shoulder. Wonshik fought to suppress a grimace. He realized now that Jaehwan must have woken in the same headspace he’d been in when he got knocked out. _When you knocked him out,_ Wonshik reminded himself, pouring salt on the wound.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, and I’m sorry I hit you, but we had to get out of there. I don’t know what the king would have done if I left you behind,” Wonshik said softly, temporarily forgetting there were other people in the room.

Jaehwan hiccupped again. “Why? Why- _why_ was there a dead guard in my room? Why were you covered in blood? Did you kill him? I don’t understand?” Breath rattling, all the air had left Jaehwan as he spoke, and it seemed like it got stuck. He tried to inhale and failed. Choking. Spluttering, until Wonshik began rubbing his back.

It occurred to Wonshik then, Jaehwan didn’t know what had happened to him. From his point of view, he’d woken up, seen a dead body on the floor of his bedroom, someone he thought he could trust had struck him, and then he’d woken again in a strange place with strange people. How terrifying that must be, Wonshik couldn’t imagine. He heaved a sigh and then tried to even out the rhythm of his breathing so Jaehwan could copy it.

“This,” he gestured in Taekwoon’s direction, “is Prince Taekwoon. Your predecessor. He tried to kill the king and failed, then came to kill you. But he didn't. We escaped and I took you with us and that’s how we got here. This is Hakyeon's home, Prince Taekwoon’s-" Wonshik paused, looking to Hakyeon for confirmation, “partner?”

“Husband,” Hakyeon corrected, but his voice was easy. Not reprimanding or insulted. Wonshik nodded. “Prince Taekwoon’s husband. He’s been taking care of you while you were out.”

Jaehwan didn’t appear to be listening anymore, his lamp-like brown eyes swiveling to stare at Taekwoon. Assessing him. Taking stock of the person whose freedom his family had bought with their lives.

“Why did you fail?” he whispered, so entirely fixated on the prince that it seemed like everything else had fallen away. Even as he touched Wonshik’s neck, pressed his finger into the soft part just below his Adam’s apple, the movement was an unconscious one. He didn’t notice Wonshik’s' convulsive swallow.

Taekwoon shook his head slightly. Opened his mouth. Closed it. “My uncle woke up before I got close enough. I cut him, but not where I’d been aiming. He’ll live until I have an opportunity to try again.”

After staring for another moment, Jaehwan turned his face away from the prince. The way a disappointed parent would turn away when their child was trying to make excuses for their bad behavior.

“You should have killed us both, try harder next time,” Jaehwan whispered, letting his head rest on Wonshik’s shoulder.

Wonshik didn’t allow himself to unpack those words, pushing them away for later inspection. If he’d tried to do it right then he probably would have started crying. “I brought your syrup, and your rabbit,” he said instead, pointing up at the stuffed animal lying abandoned on the cot.

Jaehwan snatched at it greedily, pressing its velvet ear to his lips. “Will you let Hakyeon fix you up again?” Wonshik felt like he had to keep talking or something would snap. And thankfully, Jaehwan nodded.

They didn’t move from their tangled position for a long while. Hakyeon cleaning the scarlet dribbles off Jaehwan’s face and rebandaging his head. Jaehwan didn’t fight him anymore, docile as a lamb where he sat on Wonshik’s lap. Hugging the rabbit in one arm and holding Wonshik’s hand. Playing with his fingers, studying them.

Taekwoon had gone away at some point, retreated further inside the cottage, and eventually Hakyeon took his leave as well. Letting the two sit together in silence.

“I need to go home,” Jaehwan said, breaking what felt like an infinite stretch of quiet to Wonshik. “I _have_ to go home.”

“You don’t _really_ think of the palace as your home, do you? It was a prison,” Wonshik replied, confused. How could anyone want to return to that life? Surrounded by people who hated him and having to pretend to be something he wasn’t, under lock and key at all times.

Jaehwan coughed, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow. Then he looked at Wonshik. Eyes vacant, like they’d been hollowed out with a melon-baller. Wonshik may as well have been looking into empty sockets. “I have to go back. His majesty will find me and drag me back, he needs me, he needs an heir.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Then, it was _so_ much worse. Jaehwan’s eyes were no longer empty, they were _full._ Bright with an agony so savage that Wonshik couldn’t begin to comprehend it. “I have no other place to call home, Wonshik. The palace is all I know. And his majesty may despise me with every fiber of his being, but he has a nasty possessive streak. The thought of his son-“ Jaehwan actually did air-quotes on the word _son,_ “no longer being under his control would be intolerable. He’ll send people to hunt me down and bring me back anyway, returning under my own steam will soften the blow. I hope.”

“We’ll talk about it later. Just focus on healing for right now,” Wonshik sighed, rubbing his friends back again when Jaehwan started coughing in earnest. “Do you want your syrup?”

Jaehwan nodded and Wonshik twisted around so he could grab his satchel off the floor. Pulling the blue glass bottle out of the socks he’d wrapped it in for safety and passing it over. He watched a few drops of golden liquid pool on Jaehwan's tongue. Counted them. Seven, eight, nine... Jaehwan closed his mouth after the tenth drop. Swallowed. Pulled a face.

“You’ll need to sleep after that, right?”

Another nod.

“Alright, come on. Up,” Wonshik hummed, coaxing Jaehwan off his lap and resettling him on the narrow cot. Jaehwan peered up at Wonshik, the chaos behind those beautiful brown eyes slowly evening out. He grabbed one of Wonshik’s hands.

“You tried to save me, Wonshik, and I appreciate that. Genuinely.”

“I _succeeded_ in saving you,” Wonshik corrected, feeling a small smile break across his face. Now that he knew Jaehwan wouldn’t die from his head wound or lapse into a coma, Wonshik’s own lack of sleep was catching up with him. “No need to say thank you,” he added, scanning the main room for somewhere to pass out for a few hours.

“There's no saving me, I’m afraid.”

Wonshik didn’t know how to respond to that, baffled by the false prince’s unapologetic melodramatics. Jaehwan tugged on his hand. “You look exhausted.”

“I _am_ exhausted,” Wonshik replied, turning back to Jaehwan with a gentle smile. Jaehwan tugged on him again, his grip growing slack as the medicine hit his system. “Rest with me.”

Wonshik exhaled sharply out his nose. It wouldn’t be decent, wouldn’t be proper, but really what was the point in preserving propriety now? His sleep deprived brain decided it would be alright.

So, after tugging off his boots, Wonshik shimmied onto the cot beside Jaehwan. It was narrow, really only meant for a single occupant, and they were both above average height, but they made it work. Lying on their sides with Jaehwan tucked snugly between Wonshik’s arms, the stuffed rabbit between their chests.

“What’s your bunnies name,” Wonshik murmured, nosing lightly at Jaehwan’s platinum hair. He heard a quiet snuffle in response. His companion wiggled a little.

“Mister Ears.”

“Cute.”

Wonshik was still smiling when he fell asleep.

~✵~✵~✵~

“Tell me, how did you and Taekwoon meet?”

Wonshik looked up at the sound of Jaehwan’s voice. He’d been polishing his sword in the corner and hadn’t heard his friend speak in hours. He’d half expected Jaehwan to have fallen asleep.

They had been at the cottage for a week. Wonshik felt rejuvenated, the fresh country air and having space to roam were doing his body good. He’d missed it, after so much time cooped up in the capital. He was sleeping well and eating better. Hakyeon and Taekwoon, it turned out, had a bedroom upstairs. It was essentially the attic but Hakyeon fondly referred to it as a loft. They’d set Wonshik up in a spare room situated behind the kitchen. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was still vastly more comfortable than his room in the barracks.

Despite the fact that Wonshik was openly enjoying himself, hunting with Taekwoon in the afternoons and letting Hakyeon fuss over him, Jaehwan was _not_ enjoying himself.

Jaehwan had refused Wonshik’s offer to share the spare room. He camped out on one of the two cots in the corner, which Hakyeon repeatedly explained were only used for treating patients. Jaehwan wasn’t exactly healthy, but he’d been freed from his bandages after four days, Hakyeon declaring his wound suitably healed. Head wounds bleed a lot which is why they were so scary to look at, he’d told Wonshik, and since Jaehwan wasn’t concussed he should be fine.

The false prince skittered around the cottage like a blonde beetle. Never going outside the safety of its walls, not even when Wonshik offered to take him for walks. The open space made him nervous. He’d enjoyed the palace garden but the thing about the palace garden is that it was surrounded by walls. This forest, freedom stretching off in every direction as far as the eye could see, spelled danger to Jaehwan. He was like an animal that had been raised in captivity. The wild simply didn’t make sense.

Jaehwan being nervous had the irritating effect of also making Wonshik nervous. It was contagious. He never failed to repeat his wish to return to the palace at least twice a day. And Jaehwan was taking too much syrup. As far as Wonshik was aware, he was only supposed to take it at night before bed. But Jaehwan had begun taking it multiple times a day, with the result that he slept roughly seventeen hours out of every twenty-four.

So, he slept the days away and ate sparingly, orbiting Wonshik if they were both awake and inside at the same time. Always within arm’s reach. It made Wonshik feel like he had his own personal, cuddly moon.

Now though, he’d been sitting on the floor beside the armchair Wonshik had collapsed in. And had apparently decided to try and interact with the cottage’s residents for a change. It was somehow charming, watching Jaehwan attempt to make small talk with Hakyeon. He never spoke to Taekwoon again after waking up that first time, they repelled each other like two magnets with like poles. But Hakyeon turned out to be the kind of person that attracted everyone, even distraught princes. Perhaps he _especially_ attracted distraught princes, if his choice of husband was anything to measure by.

“I’m from the kingdom to the west of here,” Hakyeon replied, setting a shallow flask simmering over a portable flame. “I found him cowering in an alley when I was sixteen. Poor thing was all twitchy and scared, and I’d just moved out of my parents’ house into my own flat, so I decided to take him home with me. I had already begun my studies to become a physician, so I used my minimal skill to nurse him back to health, and then he just never left. It wasn’t until a year after meeting that he told me who he really was.”

Jaehwan had been taking hesitant half-steps forward, inching toward the kitchen as Hakyeon spoke. It was only then that Wonshik noticed Hakyeon was holding the blue glass bottle of syrup.

“And you married him anyway? Knowing he was a prince?”

“Of course, I did,” Hakyeon replied with a laugh. He let a full dropper of the medicine drip into the flask and then covered it with some sort of glass contraption. A tangle of tubes and bulbs that Wonshik could make neither heads nor tails of. “I loved him, still love him, the fact that he was a prince never factored into my decision.”

Jaehwan gaped at their host for a moment before scuttling back to the armchair, muttering something inaudible under his breath.

“What are you doing over there,” Wonshik asked, derailing the conversation and sliding his sword back into its scabbard. Jaehwan jumped at the little _snikt_ sound it made.

“I’m trying to figure out what’s in this stuff.” Hakyeon bent halfway over so he could look right into his beaker. White haze had begun pooling in it and drifting up one of the tubes, swirling around until it finally settled in one of the weird bulb things. “I know it looks complicated but it’s not,” he explained, “heating the solution up makes it begin to evaporate, lighter particles go up, heavier go down, relatively easy to figure out what each component is once they’ve been distilled and separated.”

Wonshik blinked.

“It’s simple chemistry, Wonshik, please don’t strain yourself.”

Hakyeon's teasing tone met its mark and Wonshik barked a laugh. He made to move closer and check out the set up but Hakyeon waved him away. “Just stay over there until I’m done. Don’t want to accidentally inhale anything nasty.”

“Jaehwan takes it every day, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Hmm.” Hakyeon didn’t hum so much as he actually said _hmm,_ giving Jaehwan a look. Both knowing and suspicious in equal measure. Jaehwan flinched away from it, retreating to the relative safety that was cowering behind Wonshik.

The three men were silent for a moment, only the quiet bubbling and Jaehwan’s restless shifting filling the void. Hakyeon wrapped a damp cloth over his nose and mouth, tying it behind his head.

Hakyeon removed one of the bulbs from the sculpture of glass and held it up to his nose. Sniffing. And then making a hissing noise as he shoved the bulb away, nearly throwing it into the washbasin before flushing it out with water from the tap. He threw Jaehwan a downright _noxious_ glare and then checked the second and third bulbs with the same upsetting result.

“What? What is it, what’s wrong?” Wonshik asked, lost. But Hakyeon ignored him until he inspected the remnants lingering thickly at the bottom of the beaker.

Hakyeon cleaned all the various vessels and left the nest of tubes outside to dry. “You know what’s in this, don’t you?” he snapped, usually calm demeanor now possessing a razor edge.

Jaehwan muttered something noncommittal.

“You _know_ what’s in it and you _still_ take it?! Why would you do that?!”

More muttering.

Wonshik looked from one to the other and back again. “I don’t understand,” he said, “what is it?!”

Hakyeon stopped glaring at Jaehwan for a moment, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes.

“This _shit,”_ he spat, holding up the blue bottle with two fingers, pinching it like it was something dirty he didn’t actually want to touch, “is composed mostly of poison.”

Wonshik’s jaw dropped.

“Datura, affects the respiratory system as well as acting as an aphrodisiac and an anesthetic.” Hakyeon began listing them off, counting the ingredients on his free hand. “Nightshade, a small enough amount that it wouldn’t kill him, just make him generally sick and weak and shaky. Poppy milk, a very low dose of it, just to get him to keep taking it. Make him crave it. And all that toxic-“ he spit the word toxic like it had personally offended him- “garbage is mixed in with slippery elm bark and licorice root, all coming together in what I’m guessing is a base of maple syrup. To help the taste.”

“What does that mean?”

“Slippery elm and licorice root help his cough,” Hakyeon replied, voice turning low. Not the soothing kind of low, the kind of forced quite that meant he was trying not to shout. “It helps temporarily suppress the cough that is being given to him by the datura.”

“What, but- it gives him a cough and helps him not have a cough? I don’t-“

“He is poisoning himself. _Willingly_ poisoning himself.”

“Why would you do that?!” Wonshik exclaimed, whirling around to look at his friend. His stomach dropped like he’d missed a step walking down stairs.

Jaehwan was crying. Not loudly, not wild, gut-wrenching sobs like before. Silent tears of pure anguish were rolling down his soft, hollow cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was mercifully steady.

“You think I care if I die?” he asked, standing perfectly still, “I don’t. It would be a mercy. But there’s never enough to actually get the job done and I’m never allowed more than one bottle at a time. No stockpiling either, not when I have someone watching me twenty-four seven.”

A pointed glance in Wonshik’s direction, then Jaehwan returned his attention to Hakyeon.

“I was only given the syrup after I tried to run away a few years ago. To keep me calm. Help me relax. That’s what his majesty's physician said, anyway. And he’s not wrong. My mind is only at peace when I take my syrup. The cough is just an unpleasant price I pay to forget for a while. And it’s better than the henbane.”

“Henbane?”

Wonshik nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of Taekwoon’s voice. The man had entered the room without a whisper of sound. He moved about like a god's damned cat. Jaehwan wasn’t startled for a change. He didn’t look in the prince's direction either, still staring fixedly at Hakyeon.

“Henbane is a narcotic,” Hakyeon replied slowly, as if unsure what it had to do with their current discussion. “It intoxicates people who ingest it, can induce a trancelike state and high enough doses, even cause hallucinations. Generally, it’s used to relieve pain and aid sleep, although I’ve heard it sometimes called an aphrodisiac.”

It sounded like he was reciting a textbook passage from memory.

Jaehwan nodded and turned his attention on Taekwoon. “Your uncle harbors a secret desire for men,” he said, voice pitched up an octave. “He hates himself for it, and that self-hatred makes him lash out everyone around him. Me especially. I can’t remember much because of the-“ vague hand waving in Hakyeon’s direction, “-trance thing, but if that information helps your murderous endeavors at all, use it with my blessing.”

“Wait,” Hakyeon exclaimed, “wait, the king drugged you with henbane and-“

“I’m very pretty!” Jaehwan interrupted, taking several very fast steps toward the kitchen, “to his majesty anyway, even though my hair is wrong, pretty to the point that it makes him want to hurt me. I don’t wish to discuss the matter further, now give me back my syrup!”

Wonshik’s brain connected the dots for him. He wished it hadn’t.

“You’re not getting another drop of this garbage, not under my roof,” Hakyeon replied, and, with unflinching calmness, he upended the blue glass bottle over the washbasin and poured its contents down the drain.

Jaehwan shrieked and made a grab for it, but it was too late. His poisonous cocktail was gone.

He didn’t stop screaming, spewing a colorful array of curses and obscenities, even when Taekwoon got between him and Hakyeon. He didn’t stop when Taekwoon grabbed him around the middle and hoisted him bodily over his shoulder. And he didn’t stop when Taekwoon carried him out of the cottage and dropped him in the middle on the vegetable patch without an ounce of gentleness.

“Stop acting like such a spoiled brat, and don’t come back in until this tantrum is finished,” Taekwoon hissed, turning and walking back to the door. The prince was apparently impervious to Jaehwan’s wailing but Wonshik was not. He’d followed them outside and fully intended to go comfort his friend, but Taekwoon grabbed him by the collar and dragged him back into the house like a cat scruffing a kitten.

“He needs to tire himself out, just leave him be,” the prince said, closing the cottage door with a snap. He moved away to wrap Hakyeon in a hug, like there wasn’t a prince screaming bloody murder on his lawn.

~✵~✵~✵~

The deer Taekwoon and Wonshik had shot yesterday had been cleaned and cooked, and it had supplied them with enough food for several meals despite the increase of occupants in the cottage.

Hakyeon had cooked up a delicious venison stew that night. It was rich and full of spices Wonshik didn’t know, but he ate it greedily. And had seconds. His stomach was happy, and he was starting to get slightly drowsy, sitting in front of the fire crackling in the hearth and listening to Taekwoon and Hakyeon chatter about nothing in particular. But he couldn’t stop thinking about Jaehwan.

He’d checked out the window maybe forty-five minutes ago and seen Jaehwan lying on his back on the ground, staring up at the sky, so he knew that Jaehwan hadn’t belatedly died from the large amount of poison in his system. And Jaehwan had stopped having his little fit over two hours ago. But he wouldn’t come back inside. Taekwoon had flat out forbidden Wonshik from bringing Jaehwan any dinner. Something about his temporary banishment being good for building character. It felt like Wonshik was a little kid over at his friend’s house for a sleepover, and his friend had gotten put in time-out.

“I’m going to see how he’s doing. It’s so cold out,” Wonshik muttered, pushing himself to his feet and padding over to the window. He could feel Taekwoon’s disapproving eyes on his back, but he ignored it.

The garden was empty.

Wonshik flung open the front door and was already jogging a lap around the cottage before he even heard Hakyeon calling his name. Jaehwan wasn’t on the stretch of lawn out front, he wasn’t hiding in the small stable, and he wasn’t by the well at the back of the cottage. He wasn’t anywhere Wonshik could see. And it was freezing. And Jaehwan didn’t have a cloak. Wonshik couldn’t even remember if Jaehwan had been wearing fucking shoes!

“Jaehwan is gone!” he exclaimed, running back into the cabin and nearly careening straight into Hakyeon. “We have to go get him and bring him back!”

“I’m sure he’s alright, he can’t have gone far,” Hakyeon replied, he patted Wonshik’s arm reassuringly and passed him his cloak, taking his own off the peg on the wall and slinging it over his shoulders. The loss of his syrup must have been the last straw for Jaehwan. If he was as dependent on it as Hakyeon claimed, the possibility of getting more had probably been a strong enough drive to return to the palace all on its own. The Tyrant had built Jaehwan’s cage well. Physical walls keeping him in and chemical cravings that made him unable to leave.

“If he wants to go, let him go. Then maybe we can finally have some peace and quiet.”

Wonshik and Hakyeon turned to stare at Taekwoon in unison, twin expressions of disbelief on their faces.

“What?!” Taekwoon asked, defensive, “He’s, what, twenty-four? If he wants to go, then let him go! You two are always telling me he’s an adult, so let him do what he wants!”

Hakyeon's eyes narrowed, a fist propped on his hip. “We are _going_ to find him, Taekwoon, and we are going to bring him home. I know you’re having trouble adjusting but he is sick, and my patient, and you _owe_ him,” he had to raise his voice, speaking over his husband's objections, “and we are going to do it now! And when we get back, you and I are going to have a very long talk about your attitude because it’s unacceptable!”

“If you won’t help for Jaehwan’s sake, help for mine,” Wonshik added, belting his scabbard around his waist and taking off at a run without waiting for an answer. Two pairs of footsteps smacked the ground behind him.

Jaehwan didn’t know where he was, that was the first problem. He’d been unconscious for the entire ride to the cottage and didn’t even know what part of the kingdom they were in. But he’d been wheedling information out of Wonshik the past few days, so he knew the general direction the capital was in. And he also knew there was a road maybe two miles north. The road was almost never used by anyone other than Taekwoon, but it presented the second problem. _People._

If there were indeed people out looking for Jaehwan and they happened upon him, all would be lost. They’d take him back to the palace and Wonshik didn’t think he’d ever be able to get him out again. But scouts were only one group. There could also be bandits, and that would be worse. As far as Wonshik was aware, bandits would kill anyone they came across even if their victim had nothing valuable. Couldn't risk their victims alerting others to their presence.

And exposure was the third problem. Jaehwan could get himself eaten by a wild animal or fall off a cliff or get bitten by a snake or just get so completely turned around that they never found him, and he’d die of hunger or freeze to death. What a _colossally_ stupid idea, running away.

Wonshik trusted his instincts and led them in the direction of the road, the way he’d pointed out to Jaehwan in conversation yesterday. The three of them ran without speaking, only the soft panting of their breath filling the silence of the night-darkened forest.

It had only been forty-five minutes. How far could he have gotten? Not far, by Wonshik’s estimation. He could have made the road if he was really running, but that was only if he had luck on his side and managed to actually find it.

“Stop,” came the whisper, and Wonshik skidded to a halt, nearly stumbling over a tree root in his haste.

Taekwoon was staring at the ground. Then up to the branches at eye level. Then back at the ground.

“That way,” he murmured, pointing left and taking off again. Wonshik didn’t question it, the prince's tracking abilities vastly outshined his own and there was no reason for Taekwoon to lead them down a false trail.

Wonshik didn’t know how long they ran, pausing every few minutes for Taekwoon to look for signs of Jaehwan’s path, but they eventually ended up on a different stretch of road than Wonshik had expected. Jaehwan didn’t know it but he’d been going west rather than east. If he’d continued in this direction, it would lead him all the way to the neighboring kingdom, not the capital.

The sound of raucous laughter brought them up short. It took Wonshik half a second to identify the source, five men, royal guards by their uniforms, roughly twenty yards down the road from where they were concealed in the tree line. Make that six men. Jaehwan’s silver hair glowed like a beacon in the moonlight but he was on the ground, so it had been harder to pick him out.

“You wanna come home, little princey, huh?”

“Do you?”

“Gonna run back home to daddy?”

They were taunting him, Wonshik realized. That didn’t bode well. Out of the corner of his eye, Wonshik saw Hakyeon knock an arrow to his bow and draw.

Jaehwan must have replied because the men started laughing again.

“Why would we do that?”

“Yeah, why should we?”

“This is the best excuse for a vacation we’ve ever had! The longer we’re out _searching for the missing prince,_ the more free time we get!”

Wonshik’s temper spiked at that. Treacherous pieces of shit, the lot of them. It wasn’t like this was exactly a new development but he really, genuinely, _hated_ guards.

Taekwoon slipped silently around him and beckoned them onward, slinking closer through the tree line like a deadly jungle cat. Wonshik didn’t hesitate to follow. He unsheathed his sword as quietly as he could. Hakyeon stopped when they were thirty feet away, kneeling in the grass and taking aim.

“Please, just take me-“

One of the men back-handed Jaehwan across the face, his words cutting off in a yelp of pain.

“That’s enough talk. Let’s be done with this.”

The guard who’d struck his friend, now Wonshik’s first target, drew a long dagger from a sheath at his hip. “Any last words, princey? I’m sure-“

Hakyeon's arrow pierced the man’s throat, tearing through his carotid artery like a knife through butter. The other guards shouted and unsheathed their weapons, Taekwoon murmured, “go,” and then it began.

Taekwoon met the brunt of the attack, advancing on the pack with the kind of cool confidence that only came with deeply ingrained combat training. Two of them charged him but the prince wasn’t fazed. He met every lightning attack and turned them away like they were nothing more than tree branches swaying in a gentle breeze.

For his part, Wonshik went after the second two, one of which was dragging Jaehwan away by the hair. They had an open cart apparently, attached to a team of horses, and if they got Jaehwan into it, it would be too late.

But it seemed not to be that much of an issue. Two, three, four arrows punctured the guard’s chest and he released Jaehwan with a gasp.

The other one, Wonshik realized he knew. A truly unpleasant specimen that Wonshik had gotten to know much too well during basic training. Brutal, vicious, and possessed of a set of hideous teeth. Wonshik remembered thinking that it looked like his mouth was full of broken tombstones.

His mind was clear, battle reflexes kicking in, even as the guard flashed him a wolf's smile and raised his sword.

The guard advanced, slashing, not stabbing, fucking up all of Wonshik’s carefully practiced forms. He was fighting one handed, no style at all, just raining down blows from angles that shouldn’t have been technically possible.

There was a dagger in his free hand. That’s why he fought with that weird grip. It was his offhand though, Wonshik was able to tell that much.

Hakyeon sent arrow after arrow flashing out of the trees. He took out one of Taekwoon’s opponents but then the firing stopped. Must be out of arrows.

Wonshik dodged and swerved as best he could while trying to keep Jaehwan behind him. He parried swing after swing, ducking low to avoid a swipe that by all rights should have taken his head off, and then aimed a savage kick to his opponents’ knee.

He heard it snap, saw how the joint bent the wrong way, and it threw the man off balance. Wonshik took his opportunity and got inside his opponent’s guard, driving his sword point first through the man’s ribs so far that it came out the other side. Blade gleaming scarlet where it protruded from his enemies back.

He didn’t realize the man’s dagger had parted the flesh of his stomach until after it had happened. He barely even felt it, too surprised. But then it _hurt._ It burned, like someone had ignited an inferno in his gut.

“Shit,” he breathed, gaping down at the hilt of the dagger. Blood began soaking his shirt and he managed to yank his sword free of the dead man before collapsing, falling to his knees. Mind empty of everything but the pain.

Several very surprising things happened in very quick succession.

Taekwoon was suddenly on the ground beside Wonshik, grappling with his opponent, scarlet staining the green wool of his cloak.

The guard he was struggling with got a knee up on Taekwoon’s chest, knocking the wind out of him and banging his head in the dirt.

And then Jaehwan appeared, corpse pale and moving swift as a deer. He’d grabbed a hunting knife from one of the dead men and skittered up to the pair, slashing blindly across the guard’s throat _just_ before the guard’s own blade could stab through Taekwoon’s heart. It had cut through Taekwoon’s shirt, Wonshik noticed, exposing a tiny nick on his skin, but nothing more. Jaehwan had just saved Taekwoon’s life.

Enemy blood splattered the princes face, but the guard was already dead. He slumped forward, Taekwoon pushing him off with a grunt and then just staring up at the sky beside Wonshik, trying to catch his breath. He’d gotten red in his pretty golden hair. Wonshik forgot how to think properly.

He’d also forgotten how to hear. Hakyeon was in front of him, prying Jaehwan’s hands off his arms and assessing the damage. Wonshik saw Hakyeon's lips move but could make out what he was saying. It looked like he was counting and then-

_Oh,_ but that stung like a _bitch._ Wonshik made a noise, he must have, he could feel vibrations in his throat. Hakyeon had pulled the knife out of him. Was that how fish felt when they were gutted? Probably.

Sound suddenly came rushing back, Wonshik vision blurring as Hakyeon lay him on his back and began pressing on the wound. Logically, Wonshik was aware he was doing this to stop Wonshik from bleeding to death but all Wonshik could think of was how badly it _hurt_ and how much he wanted Hakyeon to _stop, please stop, this is going to kill me._

“Go help Woonie, you can freak out later,” Hakyeon was saying, nudging Jaehwan in the direction of the cart.

Wonshik just stared. He watched Jaehwan reluctantly move away from him and then assist Taekwoon in loading the corpses onto the wagon's bed. Jaehwan kept his eyes shut the entire time. He’d just killed someone. That wasn’t good. He was probably scared.

“I’m going to drive this a mile west and then let the horses keep going on their own. We don’t want these bodies discovered anywhere nearby. Farther away the better.”

Taekwoon had leapt up onto the driver's bench of the cart, but he pushed Jaehwan away when the younger tried to follow him. “Go help Yeonnie get Wonshik back to the cottage.”

Jaehwan stumbled when he was shoved but he kept his footing, skidding back over and getting an arm around Wonshik’s back.

“On the count of three,” Hakyeon said, and when they hoisted him upright, Wonshik tumbled into a swirling pool of liquid black. Unconscious.

~✵~✵~✵~

Laying on his bed, Wonshik listened to the bones of the cottage shift around him. _Settling,_ his parents always called it, when their small house would rattle and groan like it was full of ghosts. The house was just settling.

He was on his back with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling. His wound wouldn’t allow for anything else. Normally, Wonshik slept on his stomach, lying like he was in free fall with his arms hugging a pillow. But not right now. Not until he was fully healed and, while he was maybe two thirds of the way better compared to when the knife had still been firmly lodged in his gut, Hakyeon hadn’t given him the go-head to engage in any physical activity. And apparently sleeping on his stomach fell under that category.

Wonshik wasn’t built for stagnation. It wasn’t how he was programmed. Relaxation stressed him out more than almost anything else. He liked to move, liked getting things done. Checking tasks off lists. Even mundane things he’d done around the cottage like cleaning and chopping wood, the magnitude of the assignment didn’t matter. Wonshik thrived on _accomplishment._

But he couldn’t even help Hakyeon pick herbs in the garden anymore. As it was, Jaehwan had tentatively taken over the garden. When Hakyeon forced him to go away and give Wonshik some alone time, which happened maybe twice a day, Jaehwan stationed himself amidst the flower boxes and grow-beds. Sometimes reading a borrowed book and sometimes not. Wonshik watched him out the window of the spare room, looking on in mild jealousy as Jaehwan photosynthesized.

Soaking in the rays of winter sun had added some much-needed color to his friends' immaculate pallor, and even though the garden had a small picket fence surrounding it to keep animals out, Jaehwan was still getting accustomed to being outside. It was progress, and the improvements to his friend's health helped Wonshik feel less bitter about being stuck indoors for nearly a month.

Quiet footsteps approached the spare room.

Even quieter knocking.

It was Jaehwan, of course. He didn’t say anything when he entered the room and Wonshik didn’t lift his head to check, but it wouldn’t be anyone else. First, because Hakyeon didn’t knock, ever, and second because, while Taekwoon _did_ knock, he always did it the same way. Five fast knocks and then two slower ones, like that rhyme or children’s song or whatever it was, the series that always had to be completed or it drove people crazy. _Dun-da-dadadun... dun dun._

“How are you feeling?” Jaehwan asked, perching on the edge of the bed. Fidgeting nervously, twisting his hands in his lap.

Wonshik knew Jaehwan felt guilty about his injury, and not without cause, but Wonshik didn’t want that. He didn’t regret going after his friend. Didn’t regret saving him a second time. He was just glad they had both emerged relatively whole. But Jaehwan still felt guilty, and he never left Wonshik’s side unless he was forced. Not while Hakyeon stitched him up, not while he’d been nearly comatose from pain for the first three days, not even when Wonshik really started to heal. He read to Wonshik a lot, sometimes just talked to him. Other times he simply sat in silence, lost in a well of memories that Wonshik couldn’t see. But he still stayed. Watching over Wonshik like a guardian angel.

“Fine,” Wonshik replied, reaching out and touching his friend's knee. “It doesn’t really hurt anymore, they pain stuff Hakyeon keeps giving me does wonders. How are _you_ feeling?”

“Fine.”

He may _say_ he was fine, but Jaehwan didn’t _look_ fine. Suffering through withdrawals after Hakyeon had disposed of his syrup had left Jaehwan in a permanent state of unbalance. He was like a rock teetering on the edge of a cliff, constantly leaning either toward the safety of solid ground or a fatal fall down into the pit. Without the temporary respite granted him by the contents of his blue bottle, he barely even slept. Only constant, near-manic fluttering.

“We’re going to get through this,” Wonshik said, and he meant it.

Jaehwan’s eyes darted to his and then away again just as quickly. A small smile. He didn’t believe that, Wonshik knew, but Wonshik was going to keep saying it anyway. He’d repeat it forever until Jaehwan realized it was true.

“I brought you something.” Jaehwan angled his body away but left his knee exactly where it was, allowing Wonshik to pet him while he fiddled with whatever it was he’d brought. And pet him Wonshik did. Running the flat of his palm up Jaehwan’s thigh maybe halfway and then back down to his knee, then up again, and down.

The _something_ Jaehwan had brought turned out to be a freshly picked mango. He was slicing it into cubes on a little board he’d placed on the mattress. Wonshik was going to ask why Jaehwan didn’t slice it in the kitchen before coming in here, but he didn’t. Jaehwan’s thought process could be wildly disconnected sometimes, but the intention was pure. He’d wanted to bring Wonshik something sweet to eat and that was enough. So, instead of asking about the slicing, Wonshik said, “Jaehwan, it’s nearly two in the morning.”

Jaehwan shrugged. “Time is relative.”

“Yes, but relatively speaking it is two in the morning for both of us,” Wonshik replied, not as thrown off by the weird comment as he once would have been.

“You weren’t sleeping, I wasn’t sleeping, strictly speaking two a.m. is like nighttime lunch.”

“How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

Jaehwan shrugged again. “You snore. And I didn’t hear any snoring.”

He set the small paring knife he’d been using on the night table and balanced the cutting board on Wonshik’s stomach, shifting around until he was sitting cross legged on the bed. Squeezing himself into the narrow strip between Wonshik’s body and edge like he’d forgotten how much physical space his long limbs took up.

“Taekwoon hates me,” he said in a conversational tone, picking up a piece of mango and popping it into his mouth. Wonshik watched him chew.

“He doesn’t hate you. He just- doesn’t understand how to be around you. It makes him uncomfortable.”

Jaehwan’s expression remained neutral and he ate another bite, then held a cube out for Wonshik. Obediently, Wonshik opened his mouth and let Jaehwan place it on his tongue. _I'm eating out of Jaehwan’s hand, just like the little sparrows in the palace gardens did,_ he thought, chewing the mango slowly. Letting the sweet juices entirely coat the inside of his mouth before swallowing.

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It has the same result anyway,” Jaehwan replied, feeding Wonshik another bite. He flapped one of his hands like he’d suddenly remembered something important to say, but he must have lost the train of thought by the time he’d swallowed.

“No, it doesn’t,” Wonshik repeated, running his hand up and down the side of Jaehwan’s torso in a way he hoped was soothing. It seemed to be. Jaehwan usually liked back rubs unless he was lost in one of those dark places. Then Wonshik never touched him. He’d tried once, but Jaehwan had nearly clawed the skin off his neck and he’d never tried again. Better to leave him be. But this wasn’t one of those times, and as it was, Wonshik could feel Jaehwan’s rigidness start to ebb away.

“He just needs time to adjust to you, that’s all. Think about it. His only real friend I’m aware of is Hakyeon and they’ve been living out here basically by themselves for two years. And now, us two strangers have invaded his home. It’s got to be pretty overwhelming,” Wonshik continued, opening his mouth for another bite.

Jaehwan obliged, tilting his head to the side and staring as Wonshik chewed. “He likes you just fine.”

Wonshik took his time, chewing longer than was strictly necessary so he had a moment to gather his thoughts. He had to swallow eventually though and Jaehwan was staring expectantly.

“We think the same,” was the only explanation Wonshik managed to give. He knew it sounded lame, but it was true, Wonshik and Taekwoon operated under similar programming. They had similar interests and that same _‘get shit done’_ mentality. It was easy and comfortable for the two of them to be around one another, even in silence.

Taekwoon was quiet and Wonshik didn’t mind that. Most of the time anyway, unless he was around Hakyeon, and then he was as quick to laughter as the next guy. But the problem was that Jaehwan was loud. Not in volume per se, because he didn’t actually speak all that frequently. His _aura_ was loud. He didn’t stop moving even when he was sitting still. There was a frantic, almost chaotic energy around him and that was what made Taekwoon uncomfortable. And Jaehwan had saved Taekwoon’s life, so that was just one more thing for the true prince to try and wrap his mind around. The fact of their tragically intertwined pasts didn't help either. 

“He wanted to kill me.”

“And now he doesn’t.”

Jaehwan scrunched up his nose, turning to look out the window and reaching blindly for another piece of mango. It took three slaps at the cutting board before he realized there was none left. “That’s a shame,” he mumbled, frowning down at it, then at his hand, “now I’m all sticky.”

Without thinking, Wonshik took Jaehwan’s wrist and brought him closer, slipping his index finger into his mouth. He didn’t know what on earth possessed him to do it, but there he was, lightly sucking mango juice off Jaehwan’s skin. Jaehwan looked at him in surprise, but he didn’t pull away, so Wonshik continued. Moving onto his middle finger, then his ring finger, and then his pinky. His thumb came last, Jaehwan pressing down on Wonshik’s tongue for an instant before retracting his hand and curling it in his lap.

Not knowing what to say or do after that, Wonshik closed his eyes, hoping that it hadn’t weirded Jaehwan out. He’d weirded himself out a little actually, and he didn’t know what to do with that feeling. The room seemed too warm.

Wonshik felt the mattress shift and heard the cutting board being placed on the nightstand. He thought for a moment that Jaehwan was going to leave. But then abruptly, and slightly awkwardly, Jaehwan was kissing him.

It was slow, so gentle that Wonshik would have thought he was imagining it if he hadn’t been able to feel the heat of Jaehwan’s body hovering near his own.

“I like you very much,” Jaehwan whispered, breaking away just far enough that he was able to form words without Wonshik’s mouth getting in the way. “You make me feel like a whole person. I haven’t felt like a whole person in a very long time.”

Surprised, but not at all displeased by this development, Wonshik raised a hand to Jaehwan’s nape. Running his fingers through the downy soft hair at the base of Jaehwan’s skull before pulling him down and kissing him back.

He could taste mango juice on Jaehwan’s lips. Sweet and sugary and perfect.

“You make me feel like a whole person as well,” he replied in a whisper.

Jaehwan climbed onto him rather clumsily with Wonshik’s encouragement, straddling his lap. Wonshik let his hands settle on Jaehwan’s hips. Simply basking in the feeling of Jaehwan’s body against his.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?” Wonshik asked, forgetting all about his healing stab wound as he looked up at his friend. Without the steady stream of poison destroying him from the inside out, Jaehwan’s body seemed to be trying its best to return to normal. His hollow cheeks had begun filling out and his sun-warmed skin was clear, his skinny arms were even starting to get some muscle definition.

“Yes.”

“I have? When?”

“When you were asleep, when Hakyeon kept feeding you all those concoctions to sedate you. You were only halfway gone, I think, but you called out to me. And when I answered you and told you I was right beside you, you told me I was beautiful and that you never wanted to let me go.”

Sappy. That sounded like something Wonshik would say, especially if he was under the influence.

“I didn’t think you meant it, or, if you did, then I thought you must have been talking about someone else,” Jaehwan added, bracing himself with a hand on Wonshik’s chest. Tucking a lock of silver hair behind his ear. It was getting a little long, hanging down around his face like ribbons of ice.

Wonshik smiled. “I _did_ mean it. And I _was_ talking about you.”

Jaehwan gabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him again. Wonshik felt stubble against the side of his chin. Jaehwan must have missed a spot when he shaved that morning, a _heavily_ supervised affair using Taekwoon’s borrowed straight razor like he did every other day. Taekwoon did the supervising himself but he probably hadn’t felt the need to point out the spot to Jaehwan.

He shivered when he felt Jaehwan touch his neck. Just barely. The pads of his long fingers fluttering over Wonshik’s pulse-point.

Wonshik kissed his friend languidly, almost lazily, taking his time. Letting himself enjoy it. He lightly sucked at Jaehwan’s tongue and smiled when he heard Jaehwan whimper. It was nice, finding this particular kind of comfort with another person. Especially a person who’d lodged himself so deeply into Wonshik’s heart.

Propped up on pillows as he was, Wonshik found it easy to guide Jaehwan into the position he wanted him in. Tilting Jaehwan’s head up and trailing his mouth along that sharp jaw. Down the column of his throat. The juncture where Jaehwan’s shoulder and neck connected.

Jaehwan's hand found its way under the covers and stopped at Wonshik's crotch, massaging it a little. Tentatively stroking Wonshik through the fabric of his pants. The sensation pulled a groan from Wonshik and he skimmed his fingers down the ridges of Jaehwan’s spine.

“I can’t do this properly yet, if that’s what you’re after,” Wonshik intoned with more than a little disappointment. But it had to be said. He couldn’t physically make love to Jaehwan the way he wanted to while he was still injured.

The thought made Wonshik immeasurably sad and he opened his eyes to gage his friend's reaction. Breath catching. Jaehwan was looking down at him like there was nothing else in the world but Wonshik.

“I don’t-“

He swallowed, started over.

“I’m not after anything, proper or otherwise. I just want to feel you. Be close to you. Is that alright?”

Wonshik clutched Jaehwan’s face in both hands, heart swelling as he felt Jaehwan smile against his mouth. “It’s more than alright.”

Their kiss grew more persistent. Jaehwan’s hands in Wonshik’s hair, his hips stuttering as he tried to grind down against Wonshik’s crotch. The increase in pressure and friction made Wonshik’s' breath come faster, his heart beat quicker, the thick quilt keeping them separated felt stiflingly hot.

Wonshik moved as hastily as he dared, hoisting Jaehwan up so he was on all fours. Hands on the pillows at either side of Wonshik’s head. Jaehwan lifted one knee at a time so Wonshik could kick the blankets down. When Jaehwan settled back on him, the warmth of radiating off him made Wonshik’s head spin.

They didn’t take their clothes off. Neither one felt the need to waste the time it would take to strip.

Jaehwan sat back farther on Wonshik’s thighs than Wonshik would have liked, within arm’s reach but barely. He was chewing his bottom lip and those liquid brown eyes had gone all dark and shiny with longing.

Wonshik loosened the drawstring of Jaehwan’s soft cotton sleeping trousers, preparing to stop at any moment if Jaehwan changed his mind. But Jaehwan _didn’t_ change his mind. He fumbled awkwardly at Wonshik’s pants and tugged them down just enough, taking Wonshik’s cock in his hand.

Oh, and _that_ felt good. Jaehwan’s skin was dry and the slide didn’t come easily at first, but it was _good._ Jaehwan jerked him off with both hands, smearing Wonshik’s precome with a thumb and staring at Wonshik’s cock with so much focus it bordered on reverence.

_“Jaehwan,”_ the name hissed out from between Wonshik’s gritted teeth.

Jaehwan folded himself almost in half, scooting back so he was propped on one elbow and his chest flush with Wonshik’s thighs. And then he licked just under the head of Wonshik’s cock, a tiny brush, just the tip of his tongue. Wonshik’s vision went foggy for a second.

“Jaehwan, you don’t- have to- _fuck...”_

Jaehwan licked at him again, his little kitten tongue so warm and wet swiping up and down the shaft of Wonshik’s length. One of his hands continued jerking Wonshik off as he did so, but the other settled on Wonshik’s exposed hip. Pressing gently but rhythmically against the hollow space beneath the bone.

Wonshik could have watched Jaehwan like this forever.

But he tangled his fingers in Jaehwan’s hair, mentally cursing his stupid stab wound and lightly tugging Jaehwan up. Jaehwan let him do it. Mouth kiss-swollen and red, color flushing the apples of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His cock was hard and curving up to his clothed stomach.

“Come here,” Wonshik sighed, nearly dragging Jaehwan up so he could kiss him properly. Lips parted and tongues intertwined.

He kept an arm securely around Jaehwan’s middle, taking both of their lengths in one hand. Jaehwan choked, panting into Wonshik’s mouth. But then his hand joined Wonshik’s. Moving in synchronic harmony until the world came apart around them.

When it was done, when the heady rush of pleasure had begun to dissipate, Wonshik wrapped his arms around Jaehwan and just held him, fitting Jaehwan’s body against his. Hugging him tight.

Jaehwan managed to pull the covers back over them before his limbs went slack. Curled up and nearly purring with his face buried in the crook of Wonshik’s neck. Wonshik’s wound gave a little twinge, Jaehwan’s body was still a heavy but pleasant weight on top of him, but Wonshik had never cared about the pain less.

They drifted off like that. Jaehwan sucking sleepily on one of his fingers and Wonshik’s hands clasped at the small of Jaehwan’s back. The first good night’s sleep either of them had gotten in over a month.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow that was harder and took longer than I expected it too............
> 
> I hope you like the conclusion and also warning ahead for mild violence

~✵~✵~✵~

~✵~✵~✵~

“There’s my beautiful boy,” Wonshik called, jogging over to where Jaehwan was leaning against the cabin's exterior. Bright spring sun made his hair sparkle like snow. Wonshik wrapped his arms around Jaehwan’s waist and held him close, feeling the smooth wood of the wall against the backs of his hands. He felt Jaehwan smile when he kissed him.

After getting a clean bill of health from Hakyeon that very morning, Wonshik and Taekwoon had been out hunting together for the first time in nearly three months. It had been fantastic, stretching his legs, breathing that crisp air, looking at something other than the 132 square feet of blandness that was the spare bedroom. And not just out a window.

Jaehwan’s arms wound around his neck and Wonshik chuckled, softly but full of bliss.

“Cut that out or I’m gonna lose my appetite,” Taekwoon grumbled, stalking past them and disappearing through the open door. Wonshik barely heard him.

“You weren’t waiting out here long, were you? It’s so chilly,” said Wonshik, peppering his lover's cheeks with kisses.

Hakyeon had appeared in the doorway Taekwoon had just vanished through. “He’s been waiting out there since you left, like a little dog with separation anxiety,” he replied, speaking when Jaehwan neglected to do so. Jaehwan didn’t seem interested in speaking at all. He was too busy touching every inch of Wonshik he could get his hands on. Patting and petting as if to make sure Wonshik was still in one piece.

“You can be so silly sometimes.” Wonshik hoisted the false prince off his feet and swung him around in a circle, listening to the sound of Jaehwan’s shrill giggle in his ear.

After a brisk instruction from Hakyeon to _‘come in before one or both of you freeze to death’,_ Wonshik carried his lover inside, over the threshold like newlyweds. Jaehwan was so bundled up in sweaters it was like carrying a blanket. A very squeaky blanket.

“All of you come here and eat because I worked too hard on this meal to let it get cold- Woonie wash your hands and for _god's_ sake put him down!”

“He’s in a mood,” Wonshik whispered, eyeing their shrieking host as he carried Jaehwan over to the table. Jaehwan snickered. “He’s been like that all day. So tense.”

“I’m _tense_ because you haven’t been the least bit helpful! I had six different tinctures to make today, and I know you like working on them! There was no reason you couldn’t have helped!”

It turned out that was how Hakyeon made his living, tending to the medical needs of the few residents of the forest. There weren’t many, and they were scattered pretty far and wide, but it’s what he did. Roaming the countryside on horseback like a traveling mage. It was good though, it kept him occupied and kept him happy. And it kept the couple decently stocked with cash while Taekwoon sulked around concocting his master plans.

“I _couldn’t_ have helped,” Jaehwan replied, hiding his hands in his sleeves and not protesting when Wonshik sat them both on one chair.

Taekwoon yanked at Jaehwan’s hair as he walked past, Jaehwan swatting him with a sweater paw and snarling wordlessly in retaliation. The elder of the royal pair simply glared.

“You know the deal, little brother, if you don’t contribute then you can’t stay. We aren’t feeding you and keeping a roof over your head so you can sit around all day.” Taekwoon said _‘little brother’_ the way another man might say _‘poisonous leech’._

Their uncomfortable dynamic had shifted around at some point, referring to each other as siblings despite the lack of any sort of familial compassion or connection. Once, in conversation, Taekwoon let slip that he felt like Jaehwan was the brother he’d never had, nor wanted, and that being stuck with Jaehwan must be a divine test of his strength. They were two adults, trapped together, acting out some twisted childhood fantasy. Pseudo sibling rivalry.

It was a bit weird if Wonshik was honest, but he supposed it was better than literally going at each other with weapons.

“I know the deal, but I checked the recipes and Hakyeon was using poppy, valerian, and passionflower. None of which I’m allowed to go near in the garden, let alone once they've been turned into something useful,” Jaehwan replied, a little snarky sounding but Wonshik kept his mouth shut. It was usually better to do so at times like this. “Or am I off probation?”

“You most certainly are not,” Hakyeon snapped, setting two plates down in front of Wonshik before dropping into his own chair. He took Taekwoon’s hand atop the table. They exchanged one of those knowing-married-couple glances. Silence fell, but Jaehwan didn’t seem to notice the slight tension in the room. Or if he did notice, then he just didn’t care. He slung his arms back around Wonshik’s neck and hid his face in his hair.

Hakyeon cleared his throat. Shifted a little. “You’re right, Jaehwan. It was smart of you to stay away. I apologize.”

“It’s alright,” Jaehwan replied, although his words were a bit muffled. Hakyeon nodded. “Good. Now eat your dinner.”

“Not hungry.” Jaehwan wiggled around so he was perched more comfortably. That knowing look shifted to Wonshik, one pair of sharp dark eyes and one pair of deep brown, both piercing him where he sat.

With a labored groan, Wonshik gave Jaehwan’s middle a squeeze, tilting his head back so he could look his lover in the eye. Trying his best to appear stern. “Come on, Bubbah. Yeon took time on this, don’t be wasteful.”

Jaehwan narrowed his eyes, pouting ferociously until Wonshik surrendered and dropped a kiss on the bridge of his nose. “Fine fine fine,” he grumbled, scooting off Wonshik’s lap and grabbing his plate. Plopping down on kitchen floor food and all.

Wonshik sighed. _Pick your battles._

“So, what did you two murder in celebration of Shikkie’s glorious return to freedom?”

Taekwoon aimed a kick at Jaehwan under the table.

“Rabbits. And it’s not _murder,_ it’s called hunting, remember?”

“Same thing.”

“No, it _isn’t!”_

“Alright both of you, quit the bickering! I feel like I’m babysitting very tall and angsty children,” Hakyeon said, speaking up before Taekwoon could continue. “Instead, why don’t we go over Woonie’s new plan of attack?”

Wonshik momentarily stopped shoveling food into his mouth at that. “New plan?” he asked, looking from Hakyeon to Taekwoon and back again. They hadn’t discussed a new plan. Sure, Wonshik knew he couldn’t stay in the cabin forever and that Taekwoon would want to try taking action at some point, but he thought they’d have more time. He thought he and Jaehwan would have more time.

“Yes! The new plan!” Hakyeon's demeanor shifted from irritated to cheerful on a dime. “I mean, you’re all back in fighting form, Jaehwan is probably as good as he is going to get for now. Anyway, I’ve been waiting ages to see my Woonie's childhood bedroom.”

“Woonie's childhood bedroom is now _my_ bedroom, so I’m afraid the decor has changed a bit,” Jaehwan chimed in, earning another kick under the table for his trouble. Wonshik gave Taekwoon a warning look and he relented. “So, what’s this fabulous new plan?”

Taekwoon coughed lightly, like he was trying to clear his throat. “I need something to drink first,” he muttered, pointedly not looking at Wonshik as he got up from the table.

And then promptly fell flat on his face.

“Taekwoon!” Hakyeon exclaimed, leaning halfway over as if to help, but the true prince had already kicked off his boots and tackled Jaehwan under the table. Jaehwan had tied his laces together.

Jaehwan had started screaming before Taekwoon even got hands on him. Taekwoon snarled something that sounded like _‘you ungrateful little brat’,_ but it was hard to make out through all the screaming. Until Taekwoon got Jaehwan in a chokehold. Then Wonshik could hear perfectly. “I’m so sick of your bullshit, I should have killed you when I had the chance! But since I didn’t, I’m going to lock you in the back room until you can be fucking useful and play your part! After that, after you get me my throne back, I don’t give a shit what you do! You can drug yourself to death in a gutter, it won’t be my fucking problem anymore!”

Wonshik and Hakyeon had come to their senses by that point. With his freakish strength, Hakyeon managed to drag Taekwoon off the younger. And kept dragging him until he could push his husband against a wall. For his part, Wonshik was trying to get Jaehwan to calm down with little to no success. His eyes had taken on that empty, dark look. Unreachable.

“What the hell is wrong with you?! He’s still fragile and you go and do _this?!_ Why?!” Hakyeon asked, panting nearly as hard as Taekwoon was. His husband wouldn’t even look at him, still glaring in Jaehwan’s general direction.

“I don’t give a shit if he’s fragile! You need to stop making excuses for him, both of you!” Taekwoon spat. He did look at Hakyeon then. “Jaehwan isn’t your responsibility and he isn’t your family and isn’t your son.”

Wonshik felt the heat of Hakyeon's anger swell even from ten feet away. This wasn’t going to be pretty. Wonshik tried to make his presence as unobtrusive as possible, crouching beside Jaehwan as close as he could without touching him. At least his lover had stopped screaming.

“I know he isn’t my fucking _son,_ Taekwoon.” It wasn’t shouted, rather that forced quiet that Wonshik was learning to dread. “But who else does he have?”

“Wonshik.”

“Wonshik has known Jaehwan for roughly as long as we have, Taekwoon. You talk like he’s a burden to us, that watching out for him is a burden. It’s not. Wonshik being here doesn’t bother you, it’s never bothered you once, so why does Jaehwan being here bother you?”

“Because _Wonshik_ isn’t an entitled, immature little shit who does nothing but make our lives harder,” Taekwoon replied, high voice cold enough to freeze Hakyeon solid.

Rather than freezing solid, or backing off like Wonshik would have, Hakyeon laughed. A derisive snort of a laugh that made the hair on the back of Wonshik’s neck stand up.

“Bullshit.”

Wonshik tried to gather Jaehwan up again, to shield him from the oncoming storm, but he fought. Clawing until Wonshik let go and then just sitting there under the table. That dead-eye stare never once moving from the true prince's face.

“You can lie to yourself Woonie, but not to me. Stop saying you don’t care about him; I _know_ you care. You wouldn’t watch him like a hawk every time he goes near anything sharp if you didn't care. You wouldn’t check on him every night when he’s asleep or make sure he eats if you didn’t care. And more than anything else, he wouldn’t piss you off so much if you didn’t care.”

That second to last was news to Wonshik, he’d never seen Taekwoon check on Jaehwan once, other than making sure he didn’t hurt himself while shaving.

“I _don’t_ care! All he’s done for weeks is fuck around! First it was the crybaby act, and now he’s showing his true colors!”

Hakyeon flung his hands up over his head, taking a few very fast steps away before whirling around with fists on hips. “He’s never had a chance to act out before! He’s free, for the first time in what, fourteen years?! It’s natural for him to test that freedom! So what if he ties your shoelaces together! You think that deserves getting choked out?!”

Taekwoon opened his mouth to retort but Hakyeon didn’t give him the opportunity.

“That-“ an accusing finger in Jaehwan’s direction- “apart from me and the monster who is the one _actually_ responsible for stealing your birthright, is the only family you have left! Stop treating him like this! Stop it right now, because the you I'm looking at is a far cry from the you that I married!”

What’s that phrase? ‘A deafening silence?’ Well, this silence that fell was extremely fucking quiet. Wonshik sat as still as he could, not daring to speak lest the world around him shatter and collapse into a million pieces like shards of broken glass. The entire room felt like a photograph, each of them frozen in a tableau of anger and hurt. Hakyeon, righteously upset. Taekwoon, frustrated but visibly conflicted now, even possibly a bit guilty. And Wonshik, crouched on the ground like a rabbit that caught the sound of a predator nearby. Jaehwan was the only one moving, the picture come alive.

He stood, very slowly. Not shaking or crying, thank god, but bright with a pain that was nearly incandescent.

“You speak about me like I’m not in the room,” he whispered, almost like it was an afterthought. Measured steps ending directly in front of where Taekwoon was still backed against a wall. “We used to play together.”

Taekwoon raised a brow in surprise but he didn’t speak. Most likely a wise choice.

“You probably don’t remember, but we used to play together. In the garden. I was only like eight, it was before my mom stopped letting me tag along with her when she went to work. Around the time your uncle returned from his ventures abroad with the military.” Jaehwan tapped his lip. “Now that I think about it, that was probably right around when he started planning his coup.”

Taekwoon opened his mouth and then promptly shut it.

“In the garden, do you remember? We played hide and seek. I couldn’t ever find you until you decided to take pity on me and end the game. And you always found me within two minutes.” Jaehwan reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers through a lock of Taekwoon’s golden hair. “I thought it was so cool. An older boy was bothering to give me the time of day. And not just any older boy, but the prince. The _crown prince,_ the future _ruler_ of our kingdom, spending an hour or so every day playing with me.”

Wonshik wanted to say something but he didn’t know what. Didn’t know how. Jaehwan was almost vibrating.

“I remember, distinctly remember, when the king locked me in your- in my room that first night. After I watched my parents die. I remember thinking how lucky it was that you were the one that had run and not me. I remember thinking that once you hid, nobody would _ever_ fucking find you until you let them.”

“Jaehwan-“

“No... no.” Jaehwan held up a hand, looking away from Taekwoon the same way he did back on that first day. Disappointed.

“I admired you, even then. Really, I did. I thought you were brave and marvelous and smart, and for the first few years I dreamed that you would come riding back to the palace. That you’d take pity on the kingdom and end the game like you used to do with me. I dreamed that you’d take pity on _me._ Ride in on your beautiful golden horse and rescue me.”

Taekwoon took an aborted half step forward but Wonshik saw where this story was going. He’d uncurled from his spot under the table and moved to stand at Jaehwan’s shoulder, still not touching but close enough to see that his lover's hands were trembling.

“I looked up to you, Taekwoon. I thought you were better.” The glance Jaehwan threw at the true prince made Wonshik heart break on Taekwoon’s behalf. “You think I’m showing my true colors? Now I’ve seen yours. Vicious, quick to anger, not a drop of patience and so violently insecure that you lash out at anyone who doesn’t perfectly fit in your little self-made paradise. You’re your uncle in miniature. Must be genetic.”

Jaehwan walked to the spare room, a delicate hand resting on the doorframe when he looked back a final time. Wonshik was behind him but not blocking his line of sight to the others.

“I’ve been dealing with your uncle for years, so I know how to deal with you. Go over your plan with Wonshik. Make whatever arrangements need to be made. I’m good at acting as I’m sure you’re aware, and I’ll play whatever part you need me to play, but I want this finished by the end of the week so I can go drug myself to death in a gutter.”

Jaehwan stepped inside and shut the door in Wonshik’s face without another word, leaving the cottages three remaining occupants to suffocate in silence.

From behind him, Wonshik heard someone sob.

~✵~✵~✵~

Later that night, Wonshik combed his fingers through his lover's hair where they lay huddled on the guest bed.

Jaehwan hadn’t let him inside for more than three hours. There had been no crying, no screaming, no sound of breaking hearts from behind the closed door. Just dead air.

Instead of trying to kick down the door so he could make sure his lover hadn’t slipped out the window and run away again, Wonshik had sat. As patiently as he could. And he listened while Taekwoon outlined his newly revamped plan.

And after he’d listened, Wonshik had politely told the true prince to go fuck himself, went outside, and climbed through the spare room window and into Jaehwan’s waiting arms.

“This isn’t going to happen, I promise,” Wonshik said softly, breathing the words into his lover’s hair. They’d curled up on the bed as was their custom, Jaehwan’s back against his chest, Wonshik’s arm draped over Jaehwan’s middle.

Jaehwan brushed the side of Wonshik’s hand with his thumb, their fingers tangled together. “It will though,” he said, sounding resigned. Deflated. All the harsh bravado from his scathing analysis of Taekwoon’s character earlier was long gone.

Feeling feverish and slightly queasy, Wonshik shook his head. He didn’t even care that Jaehwan couldn’t see him do it, he had to express himself in a way other than shouting.

“No, you don’t get it, his plan is borderline suicidal, and I am not going to let you walk back in there like a piece of-“

“Shikkie,” Jaehwan interrupted, calm and quiet as he rolled over. They were face to face and Wonshik couldn't help admiring the steadiness of his lover's gaze. “Shikkie, darling, it _is_ going to happen. We don’t have any other choice.”

Wonshik released his hand and cupped Jaehwan’s cheek instead. “We _do_ have another choice, baby, we can just run away! Leave them to their scheming and move away. We can live in the countryside, just drop it all and move on! We can be free!”

“And what about you? Your parents? You and Taekwoon had the same endgame in mind, your revenge, it can still happen. Gods know I wouldn’t lose sleep over the king’s death; I don’t think anyone will.”

“I’ll give that up, baby,” Wonshik replied, a pleading note leaking into his tone. “I’d give up on revenge if it means you can live and be free. I don’t want us both to be stuck in the past forever.”

“That’s very noble of you Shikkie, but even-“ Jaehwan’s words stuck in his throat, eyes darting away from Wonshik and back again, “-even if I’m not actually a prince, I still feel responsible for the well-being of the kingdom’s subjects. I’m not just going to abandon them.”

“You’d allow yourself to be martyred for them?” Wonshik asked, incredulous. “For people who call you a monster?”

Jaehwan nodded gravely. “I would. But it won’t come to martyrdom, darling. Even if Taekwoon royally-“ a little chuckle that bordered on hysterical “-fucks up, pardon the pun, and gets himself caught, I'll just go back to my old life. His majesty wants me back to keep me, not kill me.”

“And you think I’m just going to just walk in there with you and let you do it?”

An unexpected vein of bitterness had been struck inside Wonshik and he tried not to let it carry him away. The whole situation made him angry and nervous.

“Of course,” Jaehwan replied, big glistening eyes soft and full of love. “Your loyalty is beyond reproach.”

Wonshik shut his eyes, breathing through his gritted teeth. _His loyalty was beyond reproach._ Those were almost exactly the same words the Tyrant had said the day he offered Wonshik his promotion. ‘ _There are few as dedicated as you, Captain Kim, and I am giving you the honor of guarding my son. I know your loyalty is unquestionable.’_

“And anyway,” Jaehwan continued, not giving Wonshik a chance to retort, “Taekwoon’s plan is a smart one, certainly smarter than his first attempt. I think it will work, and the sooner we get it over with, the sooner I can be rid of him for good.”

“Baby, I can’t-”

Wonshik hated how his voice cracked, words stuttering to a halt before he could finish the sentence. He felt Jaehwan’s fingers brushing against his temples, petting his hair, a thumb running over his eyebrow. The gentleness in it almost broke him. Because he _couldn’t._ He really couldn’t do what they were asking of him. If Taekwoon wanted him to act, that would be one thing. But he didn’t want Wonshik to act. He wanted Wonshik to stand still and watch. It would be fucking agony and Wonshik didn’t think he was strong enough.

“You _can,_ and you _will._ Just think of it like a final test. You know all those tests you went through so you could become my closeguard?” Jaehwan asked, pressing his lips to Wonshik’s' cheek. A stream of soft kisses that Wonshik prayed would never stop. “It's just like that. You passed all the tests before; you can pass one more. And then we’ll be free.”

“It’s not the same! I know you now, I didn’t know you before and I didn’t love you before! I could say all the right things because I didn’t care! But now-“

“Shikkie, please. Please?”

Wonshik released a shuddering breath. “If it doesn’t work,” he replied, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear himself. “If it goes wrong, I will kill you myself before I let him imprison you again.”

A minute smile quirked up the corner of Jaehwan’s mouth. “You always know just what to say.”

~✵~✵~✵~

The ride back to the capital had taken significantly less time than the first journey, probably because nobody was injured. And Jaehwan had his own horse. He wasn’t lolling slack and unconscious against Wonshik’s chest this time.

They’d dressed up, the two of them, or dressed up as much as they could. Jaehwan in a shiny silver tunic and leather riding trousers, the hood of a dark grey cloak covering his hair and eyes. Wonshik was all in black. He hadn’t worn his uniform since arriving at the cottage and having back on now, with everything that lay in store, made him feel like he was being strangled. His silver cloak was inside-out once more, but he’d change it right before they reached the palace.

Taekwoon and Hakyeon were there as well, obviously, both heavily covered up so there was no chance they’d be recognized.

Wonshik looked to his left, then his right. The streets of the capital were crowded at this hour and they’d been counting on that. Extra camouflage. It was early evening and people were meandering around, settling in for dinner or on their way to the pub or going home from work. Wonshik half debated asking (for the eighteenth time) if they could just stay here, take rooms at an inn for the night and then leave for the neighboring kingdom in the morning. Abandon the plan and run. But Jaehwan was hellbent on going through with it, even though he hadn’t said a single word to Taekwoon since that horrible mess of a dinner last week.

“This way,” Taekwoon murmured, turning down the capital's main road. Wonshik spurred his horse on. He wanted to reach out and take Jaehwan’s hand, but he didn’t dare. Not when they were so out in the open.

They rode together in a little clump of four until the walls of the palace came into view. A stone monster crouching at the city's heart just waiting to devour them. Wonshik felt a lump start to grow in his throat.

Taekwoon had allies here, so they were not entirely on their own. Nobles that he’d quietly converted to his side. A surprising amount of them, actually. Once the Tyrant was dead, they’d all assemble at the palace for a hasty coronation and then begin plans for a formal and public ceremony. _If_ the Tyrant died. That _if_ was still an _if._ Wonshik wasn’t going to be happy about the kingdom's liberation until he saw the life leave the evil man with his own eyes.

“Stick to the plan, you know what to do,” Taekwoon whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. Instead of answering, or even looking at the true prince, Jaehwan gave a single curt nod. Hakyeon put a hand on his shoulder, gave a little squeeze. Then he did the same for Wonshik. It was barely reassuring. Wonshik didn’t think anything would reassure him at this point.

“See you both soon, when this is all over,” Hakyeon murmured. Jaehwan actually smiled at him, even if the smile was stiff.

They parted ways then, Wonshik flipping his cloak around so the silver velvet showed and Jaehwan lowering his hood. Taekwoon and Hakyeon continued left, heading towards the secret entrance to the palace and the passage that would take them up to the throne room without being observed. Jaehwan and Wonshik took the direct route, Wonshik at Jaehwan’s side and a little behind, one hand on his reins and the other on the pommel of his sword.

The guards lining the gate noticed them when they approached, surprise breaking through the masks of indifference they’d been drilled into wearing. Wonshik couldn’t really blame them. Jaehwan looked regal even without a crown or his usual finery. He hadn’t been lying about being a good actor either. That ice-cold facade from the night of Wonshik’s promotion, all steel eyes and frosty smiles, was firmly in place. If Jaehwan was nervous, Wonshik couldn’t tell.

“Open the gate,” Jaehwan said, _ordered,_ waving an airy hand in the guard’s direction and inspecting the nails of the hand still holding his reins.

The guard in charge, Wonshik could tell by the color of his cloak, stepped forward after a quick conference with the others. “Highness,” he replied, sketching the shallowest possible bow, “There is a standing order to escort you to his Majesty should you arrive.”

“Fine, escort me then,” Jaehwan replied, his tone dripping with boredom. Wonshik shifted in his saddle. The guard, who had apparently been expecting some sort of resistance, gave his subordinates a confused shrug. “Yes, Highness, of course. Right away.”

They rode like a funeral procession, through the now open gate and down the long drive to the palace’s front courtyard, a veritable flock of guards surrounding the two mounted men. Jaehwan was helped out of the saddle by a footman but Wonshik simply swung down, passing his reins to a waiting stable boy. He hurried to his lover's side, wishing for nothing more in that moment than to wrap his arms around Jaehwan and hug him close. Shows of affection would have to wait. For now, Wonshik simply rested his palm on Jaehwan’s lower back and guided him forward, up the stairs and into the entry hall, scanning the area for potential threats. The picture of a loyal bodyguard. Jaehwan wasn’t the only one good at acting.

“This way, Highness, if you’ll just follow-”

“I know where the throne room is, you stupid cretin. This _is_ my house.”

Jaehwan’s words cut off the guard like a whip crack and he continued walking. Past the stunned man and down the hall at a brisk trot. There were people, nobles now rather than the peasants outside, scattered around, and every single one of them turned to look. Whispers broke out, not all of them sounding positive to Wonshik’s ear.

“Highness,” Wonshik murmured, desperate to say something to Jaehwan, anything. Goodbye. I love you. Be strong. Any of those would have done, but Jaehwan didn’t allow it. He kept right on going until they reached the doors and a shocked herald announced, “His Highness, Crown Prince Jaehwan, Knight of the Sterling Rose.”

The throne room, which had been buzzing with chatter, fell deathly silent. It felt like a hundred pairs of eyes were focusing in on them. All these people in their damasks and silks staring at Jaehwan like a pack of hungry wolves.

On the raised platform at the end of the hall, the Tyrant looked down at them. He was fifty feet away but Wonshik felt an instant spark of hatred at the sight of the horrid man. Sitting on Taekwoon’s throne like he owned the place. A fucking traitor and a fucking thief.

“Hello, father,” Jaehwan called, bowing at the waist before walking any farther inside. Wonshik did the same. His silver cloak trailed over the marble floor and when he looked up, he found that the Tyrant was visibly angry. His face was turning red.

“So, the prodigal returns,” he replied, no affection in his voice, no relief upon seeing that Jaehwan was alive. Just hard anger. Jaehwan grinned his fake smug little grin and bowed again. “Indeed.”

“Out, all of you get out,” the Tyrant shouted, glaring around the room at large. Wonshik would have jumped at the increase in volume if that impulse hadn’t been trained out of him long ago. The nobles scattered like cockroaches, swarming through the door by which Jaehwan and Wonshik had just entered.

Once the stream of people had dwindled to a trickle and the throne room doors were shut, the Tyrant sent his personal guards away. They left with more hesitancy than the nobles, but they _did_ leave. Giving Jaehwan suspicious glances as they filed out to the smaller antechamber behind the dais. Wonshik was glad to see them go, at least. Taekwoon had been right on that score. Less witnesses.

“Where have you been, Jaehwan?” the Tyrant asked, dangerous softness taking the place of shouting. Wonshik had preferred the shouting. Still in the guise of nothing more than a bodyguard, Wonshik fixed his gaze on the wall. He didn't waver, feet glued to the floor even when the Tyrant beckoned Jaehwan forwards.

Jaehwan climbed the low steps of the dais, head bowed. Subservient acquiescence replaced the cockiness of moments ago. He’d fallen into his roll easily enough. It made Wonshik’s stomach twist.

“I was kidnapped, Majesty. A band of rebels stole me right out of bed.”

The Tyrant clearly didn't believe that, his eyes narrowing as Jaehwan came to stand before him. Jaehwan knelt at his feet and the sight made Wonshik want to throw up. His strong and beautiful boy reduced to a lapdog at its master’s feet. “Rebels, really...”

“Yes, Majesty.”

“Very considerate of these _rebels_ to take your medicine and that infantile toy rabbit when they abducted you. And tried to assassinate me.”

Wonshik could almost hear Jaehwan swallow, even from ten feet away. “Apparently so, Majesty,” he replied, shrugging, “I’m not even exactly sure why they took me. They wouldn’t tell me anything, kept me locked in what was basically a closet. And they killed a cadre of your Majesty’s guards, I know that, because the guards were asking after me and I think it made my captures nervous.”

“And how did you escape from these rebels, as weak and as incapable a swordsman as you are?” the Tyrant asked, steepling his hands under his chin. Wonshik was waiting for the moment they all knew was coming, when the Tyrant would finally snap.

Jaehwan shrugged again and pointed down at Wonshik. “He followed them, apparently, snuck into their hideout in the dead of night and rescued me. He killed all of them.”

“And where is this hideout?”

“Middle of the woods to the west. It’s been cleaned out and Wonshik burned the building down.”

The Tyrant hummed. “If that is the case, why did it take you almost four months to return? Did they carry you away to the other side of the world?”

He was growing angrier and angrier with each passing moment. Wonshik could see out of his peripheral vision. _Gods, Taekwoon hurry up!_

“No, Majesty, we were injured. Both of us. Wonshik got stabbed in the stomach and I was essentially comatose for ages. Look,” Jaehwan pushed up the strands of silver at his temples, “I have a scar.”

When the snap finally came, Wonshik thought he’d be ready for it. Thought he’d mentally prepared enough to be able to handle it. Wonshik was wrong. The Tyrant grabbed Jaehwan by the hair, the longer strands at the top, and yanked his head back so sharply Wonshik thought Jaehwan’s neck was going to break. Not moving, not doing his _fucking job_ and saving Jaehwan from harm, was the hardest thing Wonshik had ever done in his entire life.

“You’re _lying,”_ the Tyrant growled, back-handing Jaehwan across the face with his free hand before wrapping it around Jaehwan’s throat. Jaehwan’s yelp of pain was reduced to a choked gurgle. The Tyrant didn’t even look in Wonshik’s' direction. Wonshik’s' loyalty was beyond reproach, he was basically a piece of furniture.

“Did I not teach you well enough what happens to traitors?”

“Not- traitor!” Jaehwan gasped, constricted airways making his words come out broken. Wonshik hated himself but he was glad he couldn’t see his lover's face. It would have killed him.

The Tyrant clicked his tongue, face maybe an inch from Jaehwan’s. He’d pulled a knife from somewhere, short but with a wide blade that tapered to a point. Wonshik couldn’t look at the wall anymore. Maybe Jaehwan had miscalculated after all, maybe the Tyrant _was_ going to kill him for disloyalty. Wonshik decided that if a direct threat was made, he would throw the plan out the window and intervene. He wasn’t just going to stand there and watch his lover die.

“What,” the vile man taunted, a sadistic smile spreading across his face as he roughly shook Jaehwan, “did these _rebels_ knock all the fight out of you?”

Wonshik tried to hide his expression of revulsion. _‘He likes it better when I fight back’_ Jaehwan had told them, back when they were safe in the cottage. And so Jaehwan fought back, or tried, trying to swipe at the Tyrants face and bite the hand that the Tyrant had clapped over his mouth. Wriggling and squirming like a worm on a hook.

“Stupid, useless boy,” the Tyrant sighed. He was average height but very broad, built like a bruiser, and he shoved Jaehwan away with almost no effort. Jaehwan’s head smacked the marble floor with an audible _thunk_ and he was facing Wonshik now, those pretty brown eyes dazed and out of focus when he opened them. Silver hair matted with blood and panting shallowly.

Sixty seconds. If Taekwoon didn’t finish this in sixty seconds, then Wonshik would do it himself. Their logic had been relatively sound when they’d reviewed the plan. If Wonshik had walked into the throne room knives-out, the Tyrant would have had him killed on the spot. And if Wonshik waited until they were alone and then tried to get him, the Tyrant would threaten Jaehwan until the guards arrive and Wonshik was killed. And Jaehwan, who was now rather fit and healthy looking, returning without Wonshik would be too suspicious. There needed to be another person in the equation, to enter the room unbeknownst to the Tyrant and take him when he was distracted. Completely and thoroughly distracted by terrorizing his false prince. 

But Wonshik didn’t know how long it took to get from the entrance of the secret passage Taekwoon was using up to the throne room. He didn’t know if they’d gotten themselves caught, or killed, or worse just bailed and left Jaehwan and Wonshik to die.

“Get up, and stop bleeding on my floor,” the Tyrant grunted, digging the toe of his boot into Jaehwan’s side. Bile was crawling its way up Wonshik’s esophagus. He was going to be sick.

Jaehwan looked so out of it that Wonshik worried he may be concussed. But he _did_ get up, slowly, pushing himself up so he was on all fours and then finally kneeling again. The Tyrant dragged him back to the foot of the throne by the front of his shirt. “Majesty,” Jaehwan croaked, even as the Tyrant roughly held his chin, “Majesty, please-”

_Thirty seconds._

The Tyrant _kissed_ Jaehwan, leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth. Wonshik bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from screaming. He’d never seen anything that looked more _wrong_ than that. But when the Tyrant pulled away, to Wonshik’s astonishment, Jaehwan spit in his face.

“You ungrateful little bitch,” the Tyrant snarled, grabbing Jaehwan by the throat again and pressing the blade of his knife against Jaehwan’s cheek. His perfect, squishy cheek that had filled out and gotten so round. The cheek that Wonshik had kissed right before they’d entered the capital earlier in the day. “Don’t bother lying to me anymore, I know you ran away. What brought you back, your medicine? No more medicine for you, Jaehwan, I think we’ll return to your daily tincture of henbane instead. Will that help you learn?”

Jaehwan was trying to scream, Wonshik could hear his little cries that shattered before they could fully escape. And he saw a drop of scarlet run down the blade of the Tyrants knife. Wonshik shifted minutely, getting a solid grip on the hilt of his sword and unsheathing it as slowly and quietly as possible. Not wanting to catch the Tyrants attention until the sword was buried in his chest.

“I think you’ve forgotten, Jaehwan, so let me remind you. You are my possession. You have no rights, you have no power, you are here solely because I allow you. And if you’re hoping I’ll kill you, I won’t, because I know that’s what you want. I am going to keep you alive even if I have to cut your pretty face and chain you to a bed for the rest of your life.”

The Tyrant kept talking, but his words faded from Wonshik’s consciousness. Taekwoon had arrived, finally, walking silently up behind the throne with his hood lowered. That wicked dagger in one gloved hand.

The true prince saw what Wonshik was doing and shook his head. Wonshik froze. He watched Taekwoon come to a stop directly behind the Tyrant, mouth what looked like ‘close your eyes’ at Jaehwan, and then grab a fistful of the Tyrant’s hair. Pulling his head back and dragging the blade across his throat from ear to ear.

Everything fell away then. Wonshik dropped all pretense of standing still and ran forwards. Taekwoon was already down on one knee at Jaehwan’s side but he let Wonshik take over, standing and calling for Hakyeon who’d been tasked to keep a lookout.

Blood had soaked through the Tyrants ornate doublet, and it had splattered across Jaehwan’s face and chest. Wonshik bundled him in his own silver cloak and tried to wipe the stains from his skin, but only served to smear them. “You’re okay now, baby, he’s dead, I’m so sorry he did this to you,” Wonshik murmured, cradling his lover in his lap. “He’s never going to hurt you ever again.” Jaehwan wasn’t speaking. Nor was he screaming or crying. He was catatonic with shock.

“You two need to hide, now,” Taekwoon said, reappearing at Wonshik’s side in a crouch. He’d removed his gloves, long pale hands clean and unmarred. “You need to hide while Yeon and I go and gather my allies.”

Wonshik nodded, wishing they could spare a moment to breathe. “Yeah, yeah I know. Where should we hide?”

“Maids quarters,” Jaehwan mumbled, one hand snaking out from under the cloak so he could pat his hair. “The maids like me. We can play cards.”

Wonshik smiled despite himself, relief and regret nearly drowning him at the same time. “You wanna play cards, baby?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, baby, can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you?”

In response, Jaehwan simply buried his face in the crook of Wonshik’s neck, making no attempt to either stand or walk. Wonshik hoisted him up, secretly hoping that his lover would just fall asleep until the rest of this mess was over.

~✵~✵~✵~

Several hours later, once Jaehwan had been cleaned up and thoroughly mothered by an assortment of the palace maid’s, Taekwoon returned.

He was no longer in his dark assassin’s garb, but in a formal uniform of white and gold brocade. There was a golden circlet around his head as well. Not a hair out of place. Wonshik thought he looked every inch the prince he was. Hakyeon was nowhere to be seen, but he no doubt looked just as dashing.

“That’s mine,” Jaehwan muttered, pointing to a folded bundle under Taekwoon’s arm.

“I know, little brother, Hakyeon raided your wardrobe.”

Jaehwan was sitting on Wonshik’s lap, and he’d been playing a rather distracted game of go-fish with one of the younger chambermaids. He looked away from Taekwoon with a huff, only to find that his opponent had jumped to her feet and was curtsying to the true prince. That loss of attention made him huff louder and he shifted around, aiming those deadly puppy dog eyes at Wonshik.

Wonshik smiled softly, kissing the tip of his pointy nose and petting his cheek. His uninjured cheek. The long slice from the Tyrants blade on his other one had been cleaned and neatly stitched up by one of the women. It wasn’t bleeding anymore but she’d warned Jaehwan that it would definitely scar. Wonshik didn’t want to cause his lover any more pain if he accidentally touched it.

“Put this on, please, I need you for the ceremony,” Taekwoon said, nodding at the maid but addressing Jaehwan. Jaehwan continued to make pouty noises at Wonshik. He was processing the situation about as well as could reasonably be expected, that is to say he was apparently ignoring the Tyrant’s death entirely. Wonshik thought it was okay. Better than all the alternative’s he could think of. At least Jaehwan was calm.

“It’s all ready then?” Wonshik asked, since Jaehwan didn't seem ready to speak again. Taekwoon had come to the capital three days ago to get everything in order, tentatively form his court and figure out how many men his allies had in case the Tyrant’s guards needed to be removed from the palace by force.

Taekwoon nodded again. “Yes, all fine. The last of those who were loyal to my uncle have just been ousted from the palace grounds and Yeon is supervising the nobles. Now all that’s needed is Jaehwan.”

“Why do you need me again? Haven’t I done enough for you?” The bitterness in Jaehwan’s voice was unmistakable but Taekwoon chose to ignore it.

“You are now, legally speaking, the highest authority in the land, little brother. I need you to confirm my identity and then I need you to crown me. After that, you are free to do as you like.”

Jaehwan did a little sniffly thing and then politely dismissed the maid. Glaring as he stood and took the bundle from Taekwoon’s arms. He stripped down in front of them both, not having the mental capacity to deal with shame at the moment, and redressed in the things Hakyeon had selected. A uniform almost as elaborate at Taekwoon’s, white with silver roses embroidered on the collar and cuffs, shiny white dress shoes, and a sliver circlet on his platinum head. He and Taekwoon looked like a pair lanky salt and pepper shakers. Silver and gold, side by side.

“Good,” Taekwoon said, nodding in approval and clasping his hands behind his back. His catlike eyes flicked to Wonshik who had remained seated. “May I- may I speak to Jaehwan alone for a moment?”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea right now, do you?”

Jaehwan reached back, his fingers curling around the edge of Wonshik’s sleeve. “It’s alright. Just please don’t go too far.”

Wonshik didn’t intend to go very far at all. In fact, he intended to eavesdrop. Privacy be damned, his lover had just suffered through an extremely difficult ordeal and Wonshik wasn’t going to abandon him with someone who had a track record of causing him physical harm. “Fine,” Wonshik replied, getting to his feet. He raised Jaehwan’s hand to his mouth and kissed the top of his knuckles. “You look beautiful.”

Satisfied by Jaehwan’s pleased giggle, Wonshik gave Taekwoon a look of warning before exiting through a servant's passage. He stood just far enough away that they couldn’t see him, but he was still able to make out their conversation.

“Jaehwan I-“ Taekwoon paused, the small room filling with a very weighty silence until he found the right words, “I just wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done and apologize for the treatment you’ve received. Both from my uncle and from myself. He truly was a monster, and I think you were correct about me. What you said before I mean. I had no cause to be as cruel to you as I was and there is no excuse for my behavior. I only hope that you can accept my apology, as useless as it is.”

That was a little overdue in Wonshik’s personal opinion.

“We both lost our parents. So did Shikkie. It’s been a lot to deal with for all involved,” Jaehwan replied, making a concession but not accepting anything yet. Wonshik bet he was crossing his arms.

“Yes, it certainly has.”

More silence. They were probably having some sort of royal staring contest.

“Are you going to stay? After the coronation, I mean?” Taekwoon asked. “I’m fourteen years out of practice when it comes to governing and I could use an advisor who knows the ropes.”

Wonshik thought Jaehwan would have laughed at that, but he didn’t. “No, I- I cannot stay here. There’s too much _bad_ here for me. I’ll lose my mind even more than I have already,” he replied, tone serious.

“How soon are you going? Hakyeon will want to say goodbye.”

“As soon as the ceremony is over.”

Someone cleared their throat, probably Taekwoon.

“I thought you might wish to leave. When I came here a few days ago to prepare, I made preparations for you as well. I assumed Hakyeon would have told you by now but apparently he hasn’t.”

Wonshik felt a bit brave and he inched closer to the corner, peeking around to see how they looked. The two were standing face to face but weirdly far apart. Not a conversational distance. On opposite sides of the room. They were both such painfully dramatic people, albeit in different ways, it almost made Wonshik want to laugh.

Taekwoon, who had been staring at his feet, looked up at Jaehwan. “You know the summer house?”

Jaehwan’s eyes narrowed slightly but he nodded.

“It’s yours. Yours and Wonshik’s, if he's inclined to go with you which I imagine he will be. My mother always loved it and it has nothing but happy memories for me, so I hoped it would bring you happiness as well.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jaehwan replied, frowning. Wonshik thought the frown was more out of confusion than displeasure.

“Of course, I did. Circumstances of birth aside, you are as much a prince of the realm as I am. I want to make sure you’re well taken care of.” Taekwoon gave Jaehwan a tiny smile before continuing. “And I want to know where to find you if I ever need advice. The summer house was the least I could do.”

Abruptly and without any warning, both princes moved forward. Meeting in the middle of the room and hugging each other tight. Wonshik thought _that_ was overdue as well. They stood like that for almost a full minute, not speaking, arms around one another and Taekwoon’s head on Jaehwan’s shoulder. Long lost family finally discovering each other after far too many years.

They broke apart a little, Taekwoon wiping at his cheek and Jaehwan clearing his throat.

“Just promise me that you’ll stay away from those syrups, okay?” Taekwoon asked, straightening the circlet on Jaehwan’s head.

Jaehwan nodded, murmuring a “thank you” as he brushed a stray thread off Taekwoon’s jacket. “And you can stop hiding Shikkie, you aren’t a very good spy.”

Feeling slightly abashed but not enough to let it ruin his mood, Wonshik paced back into the room. He patted Taekwoon on the back and stole a kiss from Jaehwan. “So, where is this summer house I've heard nothing about?”

They were all back in the throne room not even half an hour later, now mercifully cleaned of blood and without the Tyrant’s corpse, and Jaehwan was setting an ornate silver and gold crown on Taekwoon’s head. Hakyeon cried happy tears into the shoulder of Wonshik’s uniform jacket the entire ceremony.

Wonshik didn’t cry. He felt nothing but pride. His parents had been avenged, he’d made two life-long friends, and had found a man he truly loved.

What more could he ask for in this life? 

~✵~✵~✵~

**Author's Note:**

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